The Blood of Archons
by phoenix revenant
Summary: Sparrow must choose her fate once again. An ancient evil rises, and she must collect her allies once more to put a stop to it. Eventual FemSparrow/Reaver, other pairings.
1. And So Our Story Begins

**Author's Note:** In no way do I own the Fable universe or characters, despite how much I might like to. That honor goes to Peter Molyneux and Lionhead Studios. I draw no profit from this in any way. It's just the product of a deranged mind.

That said, greetings patrons! This is the first thing I've written that hasn't had a thing to do with academia in quite some time. I was inspired to try my hand at fanfiction again recently, and this idea has been floating around in my head since I finished Fable 2. FYI, I'm working on chapter two right now, and it should be, give or take a few days, about a week until the next update.

Thank you so much to Piraticaly-Insane who agreed to be my wonderful beta reader and sounding board for ideas. :D You rock, Emma!

- P.R.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a little girl called Sparrow. This girl lived with her older sister, Rose, in a bad part of Bowerstone. Where their parents had gone, neither of the two had the slightest inkling. Rose had taken on responsibility for raising her younger sister, and she tried to offer as much love and support as she could. After all, little Sparrow was the only person she had in the world. The two got by well enough, battling against cold and hunger, as well as lecherous criminals who roamed the streets, impure thoughts and desires for the two girls written plainly across their faces. Occasional odd jobs earned them a gold piece or two, just enough to cover the cost of food if they had had no luck rummaging through the scraps of others. They were kind and well behaved girls, always trying to help neighbors in their town, looking out for those who were less fortunate than even themselves. They rescued a dog from childish torment, and he became an ally to the two.

It was a hard life, but there was routine to the daily tasks that the children did.

And then, one day, the routine was shattered. The Mystical Murgo pulled his wagon into town, and set up shop, cries and shouts of magical items drawing a crowd. It was here that the girls were told by an old, blind Seeress to _believe_ in magic, and buy a music box that they _knew_ instinctually to be more than what it appeared. The girls worked up enough money, and bought the music box. They wound it up, and made a wish – To live in the castle whose shadow reigned darkly over their town. Little did they know the repercussions of such an action. They had set in motion a prophecy which would be darkly fulfilled before long. The music box disappeared after their wish, and they went to bed, the light of hope extinguished in their chests.

Later that night, guards came to bring the girls to the castle. Lord Lucien himself wanted to see them! Rose twittered with nervous apprehension over their summons to the castle. When they arrived, the things that followed would change Albion, and the world, forever. Lord Lucien turned on the girls, shooting and killing Rose right before the young Sparrow's terrified eyes. When drunkenly recalling her past in the future, Sparrow would claim that this was the moment that she died and was born again into a new life.

He shot her. She flew backwards with the force of the bullet, and shattered through the stained-glass window, falling, broken, to the snowy streets below. Theresa, the blind Seeress from earlier that day, found her, trained her, and set her on a mission that would consume the first part of her life.

On her quest for revenge, Sparrow had her faithful companion, William (who she had named after being told by Theresa that she was, in fact, a distant descendant of the legendary Hero, William Black), and a number of other Heroes by her side: Hammer – formerly Sister Hannah at the Temple of Light – a Warrior-Monk, who was as stubborn as she was compassionate, Garth, the Mage, who was wise and cool under pressure, and Reaver, the Pirate Lord, and the morally-questionable Hero of Skill. It took her ten years inside the Tattered Spire (whose presence overshadowed even that of the imposing stone monolith that was Fairfax Castle) before she could free herself and Garth, and continue preparing for the Ultimate Battle.

Of course, she had done other things during the time spent waiting and planning the next move. She had married the former lover of a spurned ghost, had a daughter, and begun accumulating property and wealth. Unfortunately, after the Spire Incident, wherein she was gone for ten years, upon her return, her husband left, taking the small child with him. Sparrow never remarried after that.

She was respected by those of both moral polarities, for she walked a tight line between the two, always preferring to exist in a shade of grey rather than either black or white. She took bounty hunting contracts from the town guard as readily as contracts from the Assassination Society. She had admitted to herself, after returning Reaver's Dark Seal to the Shadow Court, that yes, she was vain to a point, and that sacrificing her youth and vigour was not in the best interests of Albion as a whole. How would she fight to save the people if she was feeble and addled with age? The damning shrill screams of the girl whose youth was stolen echo in her nightmares still, from time to time. When it came to her purity, however, she was a saint. Very nearly a teetotaller, she drank on occasion, and didn't indulge in fatty foods or the flesh of animals. She did not look down on those who did, however.

Morally ambiguous and wholly pure, Sparrow kept a tight rein on her emotions. She listened much and spoke little, awareness dawning during the battle through the Spire, that she was being used as a pawn in this game. When it came time to exact her revenge on the man who threw her life into chaos, killed her only remaining companion, William, and generally ruined _everything_, she listened to his reasoning. Her Will lines pulsed with the repressed urge to _fry him to a crisp_, electricity crackling from fingertips to palms in her hands. Before being given the opportunity, however, the Pirate Lord took her decision, and made it himself. One shot, a crack that echoed off the walls of the Tattered Spire, was all it took to put the first cracks in the carefully maintained shell that kept her emotions in check.

Then, there was The Choice. Sacrifice everything, the needs of the many outweighing those of her own, choose Love and be reunited with those she cared about, or go with Fortune. Having saved the whole of Albion from total disaster, she felt entitled to a bit of selfishness. Where, in her training, did it ever say that Heroes were perfect? Sparrow chose Love, and was reunited with her faithful companion, Will. The other Heroes made wishes, as well, and she was sent back to Albion to reunite with her dog. Shortly after settling back into life as usual, she received the first letter from her older sister, Rose.

That was the past. A back-story, if you will. Now, things have changed.

Sparrow was _bored_. Eight years had passed since crisis loomed over Albion, promising mass death and destruction. Upon her return from the Spire, and subsequent reunion with Will, she set about working up enough money to purchase every piece of property available in Albion. She renovated homes with unpleasant furnishings, lowered rent for struggling families and merchants, and still had a sizeable amount of gold coming in at a steady flow. She had purchased all of her old friends' – Allies, perhaps would be a better word for her relationship to Reaver, in particular – homes, before purchasing Castle Fairfax. She could not, however, bring herself to live in that place, the memories of what happened there haunting her every footstep doggedly. Instead, she took up residence in Reaver's former home.

Bloodstone Manor had needed some renovations in order to make it more inhabitable for someone like Sparrow. That half-finished eyesore sitting in the study simply had to go – It had been four years from her purchase of the house by the time she made that decision – so she and a few paid workers maneuvered the hewn stone into the secret passage behind the bookshelves, and set it up in one of the open caverns in Reaver's Rear Passage. It had taken a full two days to get the awkwardly shaped stone into its storage position. Her bedroom, which she supposed had been the guest room during the time of Reaver's ownership, was in need of a few more bookshelves than it currently possessed, so she shuffled furniture around to accommodate her desires. She expanded her working area in the study, having acquired a keen interest in furthering her knowledge of the arcane. The tricks of Will users' past became a focus of intense study in her free time, and Sparrow conversed with Garth through letters whenever she encountered something that stumped her.

It was summer, and the usual cooling breeze that would blow in from the ocean in Bloodstone was markedly absent. The heat and humidity was entirely oppressive. She peeled a few strands of errant ash-brown hair off her forehead, and wiped beads of perspiration off with the back of her hand. It was near unbearable.

For the past two weeks, things had slowed down to the point that it seemed time was barely crawling by. The last contract she had taken was three weeks ago, and there had been no word of freelance work since then. Alright, sure, there was the bar tending bit, but she only did that when she was strapped for cash; dealing with drunks was not something that she enjoyed on a regular basis. On top of all that, she hadn't received any word from Garth in over a month! After he had left for Samarkand, they had kept in regular contact via letters. He usually sent a long scroll every two weeks or so, and she would reply quickly. It was a source of entertainment, and she considered Garth to be a close friend. Hammer was unreachable in her seclusion with the warrior monks of the North, so it was with Garth that Sparrow kept a connection with her past.

Rarely, perhaps twice a year, she would get a note from her sister, Rose. Sparrow longed to see her again, and was frustrated by the sometimes cryptic messages written into her letters. It took Sparrow a while to recognize that she was hinting at something, trying to deliver some sort of clue to a mystery game, the rules of which Sparrow did not know. Really, the Heroine was just glad to see her sister's writing, and hear that she was alright with the elusive Scythe. She mentally counted the months since the last letter, and figured that she was about due another. Hopefully, it would come sooner rather than later, so that she would have something to do.

With a groan, she flopped dramatically in the chair, and swung her legs up to drape them over the backrest of the chair, her head dangling upside-down. William opened one eye and half perked an ear toward his human, the look communicating something along the lines of, "You're hot? Please. I've got fur all over my body, and I'm not even complaining. So be quiet and let me nap."

Sparrow scowled toward the dog, cerulean eyes narrowing. Didn't he care that there was nothing to do but sit and stew in the heat? She grumbled, and hitched up the front of her blue and grey corset to reveal more skin to the air. Absentmindedly, she began to trace the Will lines that covered her stomach. Her fingertips stopped when her Will lines intersected those of her tattoo – The Cult of Blades markings covered her body and face, dark lines contrasting sharply with her pale skin and glowing marks that showed her to be well schooled in the ways of Will. Why had she chosen that particular marking? Her thoughts strayed toward Theresa, the mother-but-not she had known for most of her life.

'You're the descendant of a very long line of Heroes. I've no doubt that your parents may have been killed while away because of this fact.' She had said, a young Sparrow sitting on the ground by her knee, gazing toward the Seeress with wide eyes. 'In fact,' a faint smile ghosted across her features, before she continued. 'The most notable of your predecessors in recent years was the Hero of Oakvale, the Jack-Slayer.'

'Really?' Sparrow had gasped and been awestruck as a small child. How could she begin to live up to a lineage like that? All she wanted to do was to kill the man responsible for her sister's death. As an adult, she battled her way through bandits to the Crucible, and felt the need to mark her body when she emerged victorious. As fate would have it, Sparrow had a bit of a streak of dark humor, and as soon as she saw the Cult of Blades markings on a tattoo card, she knew that would be the mark she would bear. It amused her to think of wearing the markings of an ancestral enemy. Jack of Blades _was_ gone, after all, so what harm would it bring to indulge herself in body-marking irony? She snorted at the memories, brushing aside her nostalgic thoughts as she righted herself in the chair. Thinking on the past did nothing to help alleviate this damnable heat wave.

Sparrow stood, walking towards the open door (improved air flow to open all doors and windows in the mansion – the fires were out, as well, but little good any of that did!) that separated the study from the foyer of the mansion. She briefly contemplated stripping down to her skivvies – it would be a considerable improvement, but probably not by much, to get rid of some layers – before she stopped in her movements, hands flying to her head. _Shouldn't have sat like that for so long, all the blood pooled in my head._ She thought, a pressure building behind her eyes. She swayed unsteadily, and forced her feet to move another two paces, before she slumped against the wall. William was up in an instant, and by her side. The muddy-colored dog whined and nosed his mistress' shoulder. She groaned, panting heavily, as her consciousness fled and the Heroine was launched into a vision of fire and blood.

* * *

She knew this. She knew this place, as it came crashing down around her. It all looked too familiar, like she'd lived in this blazing inferno all her life, though of course while living there, it most certainly was not on fire. Not like this. The smell of smoke and the coppery tinge of blood assaulted her. Cries of peasants trapped in burning houses reached her ears, but she could do nothing to help. She was drawn forward, her feet moving of their own volition past bandits slaughtering stray fleeing villagers. Sparrow watched with a sense of detached revulsion; how sloppy, these murders, and to what end? The bandits seemed not to notice her, one chasing after a young girl ran right through her. Sparrow was nonplussed by this turn of events, remaining calm, but curious, as she was still pulled forward by some unseen force.

This was most definitely not a reaction to the extreme heat; it had to be something different. But what was going on?

The tall woman made her way down a hill, passing rows of burning houses and corpses strewn about. Voices nearby a house that had not yet been set ablaze caught her attention. Three bandits stood around outside, talking amongst themselves. Sparrow paused between them, peering into the darkened interior of the house. She could not tell what lay within, but a sense of stygian foreboding that emanated from the darkened house threatened to shatter her calm detachment.

"Right shame it is that this town has no proper loot, innit?" A gruff looking man with an eye-patch commented. His comrade, who was slicing pieces of an apple into his mouth, glanced nervously at the open door of the house beside them. The third spoke up, glaring at the first.

"Ye great arse, ye know the reason we're 'ere as well as I. Ain't no lootin' to be done 'ere – Jack came fer the two brats." He stopped to re-tie the bandanna around his head. "An' Jack only found that bull-headed girl. If'in she knew what was good fer 'er, she'd answer 'is question." A dark scowl crossed his features, and he looked to the darkened doorway. "Stubborn girl. She's gonna get 'erself killt."

The bandit with the eye-patch chuckled nervously, and began fiddling with his belt. Sparrow's brow furrowed, and she took a hesitant step towards the gaping maw that was the open doorway. She could hear a voice, raised in frustration, which turned the blood in her veins to ice. Another few steps, despite the dread that had settled as a knot in her stomach, and she was inside the house.

"I'll ask you this again," Sparrow blinked one, twice, three times, her pupils dilating to adjust to the gloom. Her Will lines glowed softly, pulsing in time with the rapid beating of her heart. The Hero of Bowerstone reached instinctively for her Daichi katana, but found nothing but empty space at her side. Before her was a scene that seemed familiar, though she could not recall how.

A man stood in front of her, his back turned. She peered over his red-hooded figure to the girl kneeling before him, simply staring, lips set in a thin, determined line. And then the man reached down with an armored hand to turn the girl's chin upwards, his voice rumbling and cold, as he demanded, "Where is the boy?"

The girl said nothing.

Sparrow gasped suddenly, recognition of the girl dawning in her mind. She nearly stumbled back with the shock of the knowledge that yes, this was Theresa. The same woman who had saved her from certain death when she was just a child, a few years younger than the girl-Theresa before her now. Silence hung thick in the room, as did the aggravation that the man was feeling. The heat from the blaze outside did nothing to help; it felt difficult to breathe. She wiped beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. _This is… This is the past._ Sparrow concluded, thoughts racing. _And that man, he's… the Jack of Blades. _Her head was swimming, and her breath came in ragged pants.

"Have it your way, then," the man muttered angrily, entwining metal-encased digits in the young Theresa's hair. As he turned, Sparrow started at the sight of his mask. An aura of menace and whispered promises of pain radiated off of the man as he dragged the young Theresa through the door into the orange glow cast by flames leaping toward the sky. The girl remained stoic and silent, despite the pain she must have felt at the rough handling. The Heroine let out a breath that she hadn't realized that she'd been holding as Jack left the house. _Just breathe, focus, keep your head on right,_ she thought, finding momentary respite in the dark interior. She raked her fingers through her shoulder-length hair, pushing away strands that were glued to her skin with perspiration.

If history served her right, she knew that the Theresa here and the Theresa whom she knew had one very marked difference: her vision. Revulsion wrapped around her insides, as she knew what must come next. She slowly made her way outside, to find Jack barking orders to the bandits that had gathered.

"We leave now." he said simply, with finality to his words that none questioned. It was obvious that their leader was far from pleased with how the slaughter of an entire town had ended. He was no closer to his goal than he had been before this. The bandits followed their red-clad leader towards the edge of town, and into the darkness of the surrounding forest. All the while, the young Theresa was dragged by her hair into the growing darkness. Sparrow followed, trailing behind and to the left of Jack. She frowned, watching as silent tears leaked from the young girl's eyes.

It felt like they had been walking for quite some time when Jack stopped. A murmur of questions arose from the bandits. The black outlines of trees were highlighted against the orange glow emanating from Oakvale. It was dark, here, in this junction between two paths. Sparrow shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, glancing from Jack to the bandits, some of whom seemed as confused as she, and back again. Why had they stopped?

"Now," Jack began, voice deep and silky, as he turned to face the young girl. "I'll ask you this one last time. Believe me, child, you have tried my patience, and I have been incredibly generous thus far." He grabbed her by her hair once again, pulling her head back so that she was looking up at him. "Where is your brother?"

Theresa remained silent. Jack sighed, a ragged and shuddering sigh that ended with a sharply metallic note. _Wait —Metallic sighs? _Sparrow thought, inching closer to the two figures that stood apart from the collected group of bandits. The glinting of metal in the darkness caught her eye, and she tensed.

"You know that you have been very, very hard to work with." Jack growled. "And I'll be repaying you for your lack of cooperation, now. You're quite sure that there's nothing you want to say?" And to that, Theresa said nothing. "Alright, you infuriating child. I've been very patient with you, but now I'm done playing." He moved a knife to her face, and began the process of carving her eyes out of her skull.

Sparrow made a guttural noise and lunged toward the man, feeling very protective of the young girl, but she accomplished nothing but passing straight through the gruesome scene, and very nearly landing on her face on the other side of the two figures. The woman stood and brushed the leaves and dirt from herself, fists clenching and unclenching as she watched the back of the red-clad man. She grit her teeth, incredibly frustrated with the situation. _What in the hell is this!? I thought visions were supposed to have a purpose. _

The horrible squelching went on for some time, until he dropped the girl, who was motionless, on the forest floor. Sparrow rubbed her forehead, frowning as she stepped back to stay out of his way. He sheathed his blade, and turned towards the bandits.

"You're all free to go, now." He stated simply. "As for your pay, go to the prearranged spot to receive your due." And with that, the demon in red turned and stalked directly towards Sparrow. "You, however, will have to come with me." She had started back-pedalling as soon as he addressed her directly; her face was a vision of shock and confusion. Sparrow tripped backwards over a fallen tree, and landed without much grace. Jack placed an armored foot on the log, and knelt to offer her a bloodstained hand. "We have much to discuss."

The world had faded, quickly, the sobs of a lost little girl disappearing, the mutters of bandits fading into nothing. Even the light from the distant fire was gone, leaving nothing but the two of them and the darkness. She panted, feeling light-headed and strangely afraid of this man; shocking blue eyes looked upwards to meet fiery yellow eyes, and she set her mouth in a grim, determined line.

"Fine," Sparrow said curtly, reaching up to take his hand. _Better to play along, until I figure out how to end this._ She thought as the man hauled her to her feet with surprising ease. The woman swayed unsteadily at first, and became aware of a cold hand on her lower back as he spoke again.

"I believe that our time is limited, so I'll have to make this short." He stated, moving her towards an illuminated path that she had not seen before. "You have something that I need, Hero. With your help, I can bring peace and prosperity once again to Albion, perhaps all of the world." His voice snaked into her head like a spell until it felt that she was no longer connected to her body. Her legs were not her own, and as much as she wanted to refuse to go any further, she couldn't stop their progress upwards on the now inclined path. The hand on her back had snaked around to her hip as Jack moved closer, his other hand moving to her shoulder as the path gave way to a broken and battered stairway.

"All I need from you, dear heart, is your help in gathering a few noteworthy individuals, and…" He paused, halting their progress to guide Sparrow to the left, toward a growing crimson glow. Sparrow became aware of the sound of her heart hammering in her head; Jack's words were silent for a moment but the buzz behind them lingered, pulling her along. They had stopped climbing, and were moving closer to the light that seemed to expand as they approached.

As they entered a circle lit by red flames, Sparrow became aware of two things: one, this was a place of sacrifice, three altars raised high in the center of the ring, and two, the scent of blood was enough to momentarily break the hold Jack had established over her. She stopped and retched, falling to one knee, tasting the scent that hung thickly about the circle. Between her heart and the buzzing in her head, and now this assault on her senses of smell and taste, she felt like she would be sick. Her head swimming, she first looked up to the Jack of Blades, then to the altars before her. What she saw there was almost too much. The demon in red knelt before her, his hands holding her shoulders.

"Look at me, Sparrow," His fiery eyes met her icy stare. "I can give you power beyond comprehension. Your name will be known throughout the world. You will be worshiped."

The buzzing in her ears turned to a hum, drowning out the pounding of her heart altogether as she grabbed at the front of his cloak to steady herself. What she had seen on the altars was nearly beyond her comprehension. Three bodies lay before her, one for each altar, but they seemed to shift until forms blurred. On the altar to her left, she could see the girl-Theresa, a young woman, and the aged Seeress that she had known as a mother figure, all superimposed upon one another. The form on the middle altar was a boy, a man, a corpse in blue and gold who she did not know. What threatened to undo the spell that Jack had worked into her mind was the body on the third altar; her sister, Rose, as a girl, and as she must look presently, Sparrow realized. But there was blood, everywhere, running from throats and wrists to pool on the ground before the triad of altars.

"Say that you will serve me, little Sparrow, and I can give you everything you have ever wanted." Jack was pulling her in, and she wanted to believe him, or so the tri-tonal notes humming in her mind told her, but she couldn't. That was her sister there, Rose, covered in blood like that fateful night in Lucien's study. Her thoughts were jumbled, disorderly; one thing, however, stood clear in her mind.

"Liar." She croaked, breaking eye contact by bowing her head forward to retch again. She would never let that happen to Rose again! Escape. Now. She had to run, had to fly, had to get away from this—this _monster._ But her head hurt, and she could feel an edge of cold panic growing.

"Shh, little Sparrow, I would never lie to you. Say you will serve me, and we can make the world all it could be." He forced her chin upwards again, capturing her gaze again. "With your help, I can accomplish everything; give you anything you could ever want…"

"No, no, no, you want to take it all away!" She shook her head, trying to jolt her thoughts back to order, and pushed against him. She had been expecting to tumble backwards, but he held her shoulders unrelentingly. "You can't have her! You can't take her away, again! No!" Panic set in, then, as her voice took on a hysteric note. He wouldn't let her go, and this smell of blood, _her_ blood, was pervasive and unyielding.

"I'll give her back, Sparrow. Calm yourself, little wing." But she kept shaking her head, mouthing 'no' over and over and over. The Heroine screwed her eyes closed, turning inward to reach for her Will ability, but grasping at nothing but emptiness inside. Her heart leapt to her throat as her last, innate weapon was nowhere to be found. She made a noise of desperation, halfway between a wail and a snarl, and pushed against the red-clad man's chest. When she looked back to the ancient evil before her, the vision of blood had faded, darkness enveloping all she could see behind the masked man.

"Come now, little Sparrow." He said gently, but sternly, grabbing her by her elbows and pulling her to her feet. "You must realize what opportunities I'm offering," He began to guide her away, but she stood still, feet rooted to the ground, continuing to shake her head.

"No, no, no, no," Sparrow chanted, pulling herself free from the demon cloaked in a man's body. She turned, stumbling unsteadily away from him and into the darkness. Then she heard something that was, at first, nothing more than a whisper at the edge of her consciousness. As she took another, more confident step away from the malevolent being, a growing light was invading the darkness.

"Little Sparrow," A new voice spoke, with a familiar soothing sound. Sparrow blinked, looking for the source of the now bright light, and found Theresa standing nearby. The hum that had been clouding her thoughts faded, leaving a sharp ache in the front of her head. "Come away, quickly." Theresa sounded urgent, extending a hand in a familiar gesture towards the shaken Heroine. Sparrow made a move to take her mentor's hand, but was stopped short.

"Not yet, witch," The Jack of Blades hissed at Theresa, moving quickly to seize Sparrow's wrist. "I have a parting gift for you. See just what I can give you, Sparrow." That said, the ancient being snapped his free arm forward, fingers encased in clawed metal snatching hold and tearing out Sparrow's left eye. She shrieked, jerking instinctively away from the source of pain, but Jack held her wrist firm as she fell to her knees again. She was aware of a new pressure where her eye had been, and the vice grip on her wrist was released.

"Sparrow! Little Sparrow, you must get up!" Theresa called desperately. The thin woman half dove, half crawled toward Theresa's voice, one hand pressed to her face. The pain was severe, and she felt a warm liquid leaking from between her fingers.

"Sparrow! Sparrow!" Her name sounded strange, like it was coming through water. She looked up, seeing rather blurrily Theresa's hooded silhouette outlined in bright light, then lunged to grasp the aged Seeress' outstretched hand.

And then, it felt like she was drowning.

* * *

"Miss Sparrow! Miss Sparrow!" She felt pain as she jerked into a sitting position, coughing and sputtering, blinking water out of her eyes. Norman, the butler who came along with the property as Bloodstone Manor changed hands, knelt next to her. He wore a concerned look, and began to clap her on the back as she coughed. William whined from her opposite side, his tail tapping a relieved rhythm against the wooden floor.

"Oi, Mistress, I was worried 'bout ya." Norman's look of concern gave way to a lop-sided grin of relief as the Heroine pushed her now wet hair out of her face. "When ol' Willy came a'howlin' out to me an' started pullin' on me breeches, I figured somethin' was off."

She cleared her throat and looked over at the canine by her side. He tilted his head at her, ears perking and a shrill whine catching in the back of his throat. Will's tail stopped moving, his expression becoming confused. 'What's wrong with you?' His dark brown eyes seemed to ask. Sparrow reached a hand out to scratch his head, before she looked back to the butler who was rambling on.

"Miss Sparrow, I do hope ya don't mind that I had to dump water all over ya." Norman was looking at the pitcher that lay on its side nearby. "Y'see, I tried shakin' ya, an' yellin' atch'ya, but nothin' would get ya—" He choked then, as his eyes made it back to his employer's face. The butler jumped backwards, words seemingly stuck within him as his mouth gaped open.

"Really, Norman, I don't mind," Sparrow smiled softly at the man, wondering what had lead to that outburst. She hoped that he wasn't afraid of her. "M'not angry at all or anything." And still, he did nothing more than gape at her.

Her brows drew together in confusion, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. Her headache from that dream—no, a vision was what it was; dreams only came when one was asleep—that vision was returning with a renewed force. She could have sworn that her left eye felt painful, but as she could still see out of it, and she saw that there was no blood around, she was fairly certain that everything was in order. That was why Will's strange reaction and Norman's even stranger fit had her so confused.

"Norman, what's the matter?" She frowned, looking from her dog to her butler. "What, there's not a Banshee behind me, is there?" She laughed, trying to break the awful tension that had descended upon them. "Those things get bolder and braver each year, you know…" The man coughed, cleared his throat, then squinted at her.

"Miss… It's yer eye." He licked his lips nervously. "It's all… All _wrong_."

"What do you mean, my eye?" She reached for her left eye, prodding gently at the skin around it. It had started throbbing, like she'd taken a vicious hit straight to the face. But, then again, all the other pains from her vision had come creeping into reality, as well. What was he talking about? She climbed slowly to her feet, and approached a wall mirror that remained in the study from the days of the home's previous owner.

What she saw there made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Though outwardly she seemed unaffected, the shaking of her hands was one sure tell of the confusion and fear that grew at the sight before her. Her face stared back at her, nothing new; she looked flushed, like she had a fever or had been in the sun for far too long. The same glowing blue lines were etched across her face, intersected by the same black ink of the same tattoo she had had for years. The same curve of her jaw was there, even the same shadows of sleepless nights lay beneath her eyes. Her eyes, however, were different.

A mismatched pair of eyes stared back out at her from the mirror; one was the same deep, cool blue as it had been before, but the other was something entirely different. It burned with shades of amber and orange, a fiery and stark contrast to her right eye. The skin around her left eye was sore to the touch, and looked swollen and redder than the rest of her face. She swallowed, recalling words that seemed to echo in her mind.

"A parting gift…" Was all she muttered, before turning to Norman and fixing him with her fire-and-ice stare, expressionless. "He's come back." She said to the man who now stood by her side. "And we're in trouble."


	2. Caveat Venditor

A huge thank you to Piraticaly-Insane! She helps me sound better. :D

* * *

A week had passed since her vision, and Sparrow had noticed some very distinct changes. Firstly, and quite fortunately, the heat wave broke, and the wind began to blow in from the sea once again. Ships had begun filtering slowly into harbor. Some had been stuck in open seas, no wind for their sails to catch, for weeks. They brought news from afar, exotic goods, and letters for the Heroine.

Secondly, Sparrow had noticed a few disturbing changes within herself: her head ached fiercely, as if someone was pounding on her forehead, and light affected her strangely. In the dark, her head didn't hurt as much. Moreover, she could see much better in dim light than she had before this change had occurred; sometimes, if she squinted just right, she could see what she thought to be merely body heat when she looked at her canine companion. It was a hazy outline, at best, whatever it was, and she did doubt that she saw anything, at all. Perhaps it was merely just another odd side-effect of this change. However, it was as if her advantage was only in the dark. When the sun rose, her head began to pound fiercely. The Heroine then barricaded herself in her room, curtains drawn tightly. More often than not, Sparrow had a wet compress over her eyes as she either slept lightly or lay in a twilight state between sleep and full wakefulness. William contented himself to curl up by her side and sleep the daylight away.

Bruises had bloomed, dark and purple and blue, around her left eye on the day following her vision. They had faded since then, yellow and green hues replacing the fresh blues and purples. She had drawn the curtains on all the windows on the second story, and avoided the main floor after dawn until dusk. Strict orders were given to Norman not to let anyone in, unless it was an extreme emergency.

Over the course of the week, her head had ached less fiercely with each passing day. Although Sparrow was reluctant to chance being up during daylight hours, she felt her painful aversion to brighter light slowly diminish, so that she was able to rise earlier and delay her flight from the first story of the Manor a while longer each coming dawn.

While she had been in the relative safety of her room, Norman had placed three letters on her desk, their deliveries delayed by the doldrums of late. On the evening of that day, she descended the stairs and crept quietly into her study. Will padded slowly beside her, brushing reassuringly against her legs as she reached her desk. She leaned forward on her palms, adjusting her vision slowly to the gloaming, while examining the recent deliveries. The hefty, bound scroll made it first into her hands, and she tucked it under her arm while reaching back for the two, smaller square envelopes on the desk. William had sat by her leg, and as she picked up the papers, he looked up and whined softly. 'Something worse is coming. Do you feel it?' His looks seemed to speak in volumes, but only to her. She reached down with her free hand to scratch behind his ears.

"Let's try sitting outside tonight." She said softly. "I don't feel as if I've been run down by a carriage so much, today. Plus, I doubt I'd be able to see who's sent what in this dark." William stood, his tail wagging slowly, as Sparrow turned and shuffled back upstairs. The click-click of Will's nails on the hardwood, and the distant muffled din of drunks at the pub were customary sounds of the evening in Bloodstone. She turned the handle to a room usually left unused – Reaver's room – and crossed the length of it to the balcony doors. Will woofed softly, eyes green while reflecting the evening light as he looked at his mistress. 'Don't do it if it's gonna hurt, lady.' He seemed to say. She gave him a crooked half smile, took a deep breath, and stubbornly pushed the doors open.

Immediately, she regretted doing so, as a shooting pain lanced through her left eye and into her head once more. However, it was becoming easier to deal with. She exhaled raggedly, clenched her jaw, and sat cross-legged on the wooden balcony. Will settled behind her, curling around to make a comfortable dog-shaped pillow for his lady to lean back on. The sun had dipped below the horizon line, but it painted the sky in brilliant shades of crimson, orange, pink, and lavender. Night was creeping steadily over the sky, eating away at the edges of lavender to replace them with a darker indigo, and further away from the last rays of sunlight, a deep inky blue. She took a deep breath, all but tasting the salt of the ocean carried on a breeze inland. _Time for business._

Sparrow carefully set the scroll atop the smallest square of folded paper, to ensure that the wind wouldn't take it, and set to peeling open the wax seal on her first letter. The first letter from her sister in a great long while. She smiled at Rose's gracefully curved handwriting on the front of the envelope, before pulling out the folded paper inside. The curt, businesslike tone she read sounded nothing like her sister's previous letters, and her brow furrowed in displeasure.

_Little Sparrow,_

_Things here have progressed more rapidly than any of the elders had anticipated. I have completed enough of my training with Scythe to be an asset to you, rather than a hindrance, so I will set out within the week to collect the first necessary ally in our struggle. Please stay where you are, I will arrive before the end of summer. Please, sister, it is imperative that you keep a low profile for the time being. Things are worse than we could have imagined. All will be explained when I arrive._

_Much love,_

_Rose_

Sparrow folded the single sheet of parchment, and placed it back in its envelope. This was the most cryptic letter yet, and a sense of unease began to grow in the pit of Sparrow's stomach. She placed her sister's letter under her bare foot, and tore open the smallest square of paper. Within it lay a half piece of paper, with more cryptic words written on it:

_Hero,_ The paper began, and she scoffed, recognizing the sharp lines of her mother-but-not's handwriting, not to mention her impersonal greeting. Her frown deepened as she read on.

_The fate of Albion, and now, all the world, lies in your hands once again. I have saved you from being forced down a path, but you must choose your side swiftly. The Three Heroes must be gathered again. Expect them to be delivered to you; fate works in strange ways._

_Theresa_

Before she thought her impulse through, the paper was sent up in flames. She clenched and unclenched her jaw in annoyance. _Great sodding use I'll be to them if they don't explain what's going on. _ Will lifted his head and whined softly, brown eyes watching pieces of ash float away on the wind. His ears perked, and he nosed the last of her deliveries toward her. 'This might be good news.' His tail thumped once, twice, three times, before the Heroine picked up the scroll, and untied the twine keeping it wrapped up. Will grinned, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

For the first four pages of the seven-page volume that Garth had sent along, he went into details of his research in Samarkand, and renewed their previous discussion about active and passive energies. It was a great curiosity to Sparrow that her Will abilities extended to fire, electricity, and wind, but she had no sway over water in any form. She and Garth had been carrying on a series of conjectures about how one might go about learning how to bend water to Will power, but neither had had any luck while actually experimenting. Garth revealed excitedly that he had the great fortune to cross paths with a wandering book trader who dealt exclusively in rare tomes. This, in turn, had lead him to several new discoveries, one being the fact that an ancient dynasty in Samarkand, circa the time of the Old Kingdom in Albion, had been able to manipulate water, ice, and mist to a powerful degree. He wrote of theory surrounding the use, and confirmed her previous hypothesis of water carrying a passive energy, which was more difficult to feel and call upon than that of fire or electricity.

On the fifth page of the letter, however, his tone shifted to one of agitation. Rumours of shadows on the south-western coast of Samarkand, close enough to his home to put him on edge, had come to him by way of refugees. The refugees came to him with horror stories; blood sacrifices to demons of old, people either forced into submission or killed outright in glorification of the mystery cult that was swiftly gaining power. The next page told of an increasingly tense situation in his home city, with the influx of refugees drawing on resources previously reserved for times of great hardship. The last page of his letter contained simply this:

_Regrettably, it is impossible for me to continue my research, here. There are urgent matters that must be discussed in person. I shall arrive as soon as I am able, though I fear my journey will be difficult._

Sparrow placed the sheaf of papers by Will's hesitantly thumping tail, closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose. She growled irritably, finding no answers in any of the letters. With a sigh, she looked toward the last vestiges of light that dyed the horizon lilac and lavender. Stars had appeared in the eventide, and the noise of the drunks at the bar by the water had increased exponentially in volume. Will whined softly, nudging his lady's hand. 'It's all bad news?' If he had had eyebrows, one would have been cocked in question. His pink tongue darted out to lap at the top of the Heroine's hand reassuringly.

"I feel like bad news would be better than no news, Will." She scratched behind the dog's ears, and then reached to collect the letters. "I want to put these away, and get something strong to drink." A laugh escaped her when the dog made a disgruntled noise, pitch shifting from a high wine down into a grumble. "Oh, don't worry so much, pup! I'm not going out." She climbed slowly to her feet, stretching and popping joints as she did so. Will followed her cue, bowing low before stretching each of his hind legs in turn.

"I'll send Norman to the bar with some gold… All we've got is that cheap mess, and my head hurts enough as is. No need to add cheap liquor to the mix." She said as she headed back into the darkened house.

Sparrow closed and latched the balcony door, following the swift click-click-clack of Will's nails on the floor swiftly out of the unused room. She shut the door, and headed back down two flights of stairs, into the study to deposit the letters haphazardly on her desk.

The information from Garth concerning their mutual research project sounded promising. She tried to pick out the good things from the frustratingly vague, and made a mental note to try another experiment using steam – Perhaps the way to working with water was through wind? That element had a feel more distinct and different than that of the other raw, active energies within either flame or electricity. It was hard to explain, the way it felt to work with wind. Sure, it was easy enough to send a vortex hurtling through enemies, making them easier to cut down as they flailed helplessly. She cracked the knuckles on one hand, then the other, and then snapped her fingers to summon a small flame. It danced lightly on her index finger, and she moved to a chest of drawers near the door of her house. Will had strayed from her side, and stood a body length away from her, staring at the door tensely. She arched a brow his way, but his ears twitched and swivelled, and she received no response.

She sighed and began to work the top drawer open with the hand not occupied with flame. A growl stopped her as she was reaching for a pouch of 500 gold – No, Norman didn't technically need all of that gold to run out and buy her something to drink, but she liked him well enough, and tipped generously on top of his already hefty salary – and she let her flame extinguish as she approached William. _Damn, my weapons are upstairs._ She cursed mentally, reaching inward for her energy and preparing to blast any enemy stupid enough to come knocking on her front door. William took point, creeping closer to the door, his hackles raised, and a menacing growl bubbling in his throat. Sparrow strained to hear what it was that caught his attention outside the door. She inched forward, despite Will's growl-whine-huff of protest, urging caution, and pressed her ear to the door. What she heard made her eyes widen in shock.

"Sir, ya can't go in there. M'under strict orders not ta let anyone in. It's been this way fer a week now." Norman's voice sounded harried, an edge of fear plainly audible under his false bravado.

"Norman," An all too familiar voice purred silkily. "Who was it that paid your wages before?"

"You, sir," She could see him in her mind's eye, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "But, sir, you never said what'd 'appen if ya left. There's no plan in place for yer return." Norman laughed nervously. "Honestly, sir, I never expected to see you again – Figgered ya would be off for a long while, longer than I'd 'ave days to wait around."

"Well, ever how much I enjoy your company, Norman, my patience is wearing thin." The voice spoke, a growing edge of irritation plain in its tone. "Now, if you'll please step aside, I'm rather tired from my journey, and I'd like to get some rest."

She heard Norman shift uncomfortably, and knew that he was weighing both his options and his chances in his mind. Her hand grasped the handle in anticipation. He cleared his throat, decision apparently made, and cleared his throat.

"Sir, I can't let ya in. An' that's that." Sparrow heard the other voice sigh, and then heard a very distinctive click. _Oh no._

"I'm terribly sorry that it had to come to thi—" Sparrow flung the door open, glowering at the Pirate King who had his Dragonstomper .48 pointed at her butler's head. William, hackles raised and teeth bared in a fierce snarl, advanced to place himself between the pirate and his lady. A low rumble issued constantly from the dog, which looked absolutely bloodthirsty.

"I'd appreciate it if you would point your weapon away from _my_ butler," She stated calmly, Will lines seeming to glow brighter, fuelled by the anger she kept from her voice. "Good help is so hard to find, these days."

"Ah! Sparrow!" Reaver smiled charmingly, and aimed his gun at her, instead. "Now this is certainly a surprise."

"Now, Reaver, sir, there's no need for that sort of greeting." Norman glanced nervously from his former employer to his current one, his hands held up in caution. He shifted from foot to foot, his hope for a calm resolution to the situation dwindling by the second.

The pirate ignored his former employee, focusing on the Heroine before him. She held her hands at the ready by her sides, ready to blast the Hero of Skill with a ball of flame, while feigning a posture of indifference.

"I believe I know what you're here for." She stated simply, unperturbed by the pistol pointed at her face. "Though if that Dark Seal isn't what you've come for, then we'll have to have a discussion about logistics…" She stepped forward, out of the doorway, and side-stepped her companion to stand boldly before the thief. With one hand, she gripped the barrel of his gun, and pushed it to the side. "That is, if you can stop acting on homicidal impulse long enough to carry on a conversation." His lip curled in a sneer, Reaver shook Sparrow's hand from his pistol and returned it to its holster. He narrowed his green eyes, taking in her appearance, and readjusted the pack slung over his shoulder.

"Hmm… You've changed, darling. But I can't rightly place what it is about you…" The Pirate King reached a hand up, gingerly touching the Heroine's chin with his gloved fingertips. Her mask cracked for the briefest of moments as she stepped back from the hesitant physical contact; her face flashed alarm at his proximity, before she quickly put a blank expression back in place. Reaver smirked, her micro-expression not lost on him, and as he opened his mouth to speak once more, Norman cleared his throat pointedly.

"It's 'er eye, sir. Been causin' 'er troubles, ever since the change." He stated softly, looking apologetically toward Sparrow. In all honestly, he liked his new employer; she was a vast improvement over Reaver, mostly in that he didn't fear for his life at each encounter, and the woman was generous and kind. Norman hoped that he had not overstepped his bounds in pointing out what he thought to be fairly obvious and shocking. It would upset him to know he had offended the Heroine.

"Ah." Reaver said simply, his mouth closing with a click. His eyes seemed clouded, as he pondered what this could mean. He inhaled and appeared to be ready to speak once more, before Sparrow waved a hand dismissively and shifted her weight uncomfortably.

"Such things would be better discussed behind closed doors, I think." She looked to Norman, and inclined her head toward the slowly gathering crowd of drunks, whores, and a fair sample of Bloodstone's populace at the gates. "Make sure that there are no more unexpected visitors, this evening."

Norman nodded, and returned to his post near the door, arms folded and an intimidating glower on his face. The man could look downright mean when he put minimal effort into it. Reaver, meanwhile, had been muffling laughter behind one hand. Sparrow arched a brow, mismatched eyes shooting daggers his way.

"Lovely Sparrow, if I had known that you would be waiting here to trap and ravish me in my own coastal paradise, I would have come better prepared." He grinned mischievously, walking past a grumble-growling William and through the open doorway. "Discussion, indeed." The pirate scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "I knew that you couldn't resist my charms."

Sparrow sighed and set her jaw in a determined line, then followed after the pirate. She felt as if the relief from her near constant headache was waning… Or perhaps Reaver just aggravated her. She didn't like being aggravated, especially when she wasn't feeling particularly well. It left her prone to snapping and other unpleasant outbursts of emotion. And emotional outbursts most definitely weren't something she was interested in, at least not in the company of an individual whom she didn't trust much farther than she could throw him. Come to think of it, she could probably pick the slender man up and toss him a fair distance without breaking a sweat, so perhaps a different metaphor was in order to describe trust relations. She shook her head and sighed once more, pinching the bridge of her nose. _Ugh, this is just my luck…_ William bumped against her leg as he followed the two Heroes inside, looking up at his lady with an expression of displeasure. 'You're really letting him in here? _Really?_ He smells bad.' As if to reinforce his point, the dog wrinkled his nose then sneezed.

In the mean time, Reaver had continued walking into the manor. He seemed to be appraising the state of the foyer, which hadn't received too much attention in the way of updates since she had lived here.

"It's a bit dark in here, don't you think?" He arched a brow at the woman before continuing. "Unless, of course, that's how you prefer to, ah, _get things done_, hm?"

She didn't answer, and moved past him, into the study. He frowned slightly at the lack of response, and found himself being pushed to the side by a furry body passing him as well. Will grumbled while padding after his mistress, who had made her way to the hearth in the room, flames dancing in the palm of one hand as she placed a new log into the fireplace with the other.

"I've been… Unwell, Reaver. It's dark because the light makes my head ache terribly." Sparrow set the log ablaze, and quickly turned her back to the growing fire. Reaver had dropped his bag with a dull thud next to a particularly comfortable armchair, plopped himself down, and was rummaging through said bag.

"If you'd like, we can play doctor, luv." He smirked, not looking up from his search. "I'm sure that I could help with that headache of yours, seeing as how the other women in town say I'm a miracle worker – Aha!" His search had proved fruitful, as he pulled a corked bottle from the bag. Sparrow said nothing, and instead sat on the floor before the fireplace, facing the thief, and rested her chin on her knees which were pulled close to her chest. Will lay down at her feet, placing himself between Sparrow and Reaver. A beat of silence, and the pirate was speaking again.

"I see that you've made some changes, here." He gestured around the room. "Tell me, did you move the glassware, or is it still in the same place? I've a bottle of some very _exotic_ liqueur I've been holding on to, and a drink to celebrate my first night home seems in order." He held the bottle up by its neck and shook it a bit. Sparrow perked up at his confession – Exotic, in Albion at least, was usually equated with expense and quality. And she had been just about to send Norman for a bottle… The manor was ill-stocked on all provisions at the moment, seeing as how she couldn't get out during the day to do any shopping over the past week.

"I left them where they were." She watched as the pirate stood, placing the bottle in the chair, and sauntered toward a cupboard to retrieve two goblets. One corner of her mouth curled upwards in a smirk; she never could deny that he was very aesthetically pleasing. His movements were fluid and graceful, and the lithe muscles she knew to be present beneath the burgundy and gold clothing he wore were as battle honed as her own. Reaver in the nude would be a sight… One that she never wanted to see. He was a hideous paradox; beautiful and deadly, not to be trusted. Had he not betrayed her twice within the first days of meeting her? Yes, he may be physically attractive, but the type of person he had become – He was not always this way, she knew that much from the diary entries she had found hidden throughout the house after purchasing it – was ugly and mean, full of arrogance and poison. In a way, Sparrow supposed, he was similar to a kind of snake Garth had told her about once. It was flashy, all iridescent hues of turquoise, green, and violet, and it attracted the attention of many different types of animals. However, the beautiful snake hid a secret: its venom was potent enough to drop a full grown man within minutes. She shook herself from her thoughts long enough to realize that she was, in fact, checking out his backside while he busied himself in selecting cups – The crystal? No, metal goblets. – From the cupboard. Sparrow swiftly averted her gaze, looking quickly to the fire.

That was a mistake. A quick, hissing intake of breath through gritted teeth, and she screwed her eyes shut as pain lanced through her skull. It was less than it had been during the first few days, but still painful enough to cause her discomfort. She pushed the heels of her palms into each eye, hoping that the combined pressure and darkness would soothe the building ache in her skull. She heard the pirate's footfalls heralding his return, and a moment later, was aware of his presence by her side. He settled with a groan, muscles sore from weeks on a ship, and popped the cork out of the bottle. Will growled softly, a dark amber eye opening to stare down Reaver.

"Shut up, mutt." He nudged Sparrow's shoulder, extending a goblet of pungent smelling green liquid her way. "Here you go. We'll celebrate my homecoming, and you can tell me about the… Happenings that have occurred since I've been away." Reaver gestured dismissively as he finished speaking. He took a drink of his own goblet, while Sparrow cupped hers in both hands, and sniffed gingerly. The pirate watched her, a grin springing onto his face.

"It won't kill you, dear, though I daresay if you try to keep up with me, you'll wake up wishing it had." The pirate smirked over the rim of his goblet, and leaned back on his free arm, legs stretching out in front of him. Sparrow eyed him warily, and then took a hesitant sip. The flavor of the liqueur, she found, was minty and strong, a hint of some spice she did not know remaining after the liquid had blazed a scorching trail down her throat. It was good, she concluded, and was just what she'd wanted before he showed up. Sparrow cleared her throat.

"Reaver, there's trouble again." She said softly before taking a larger gulp of the liqueur. He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"When _isn't_ there trouble, hm? I'd swear that trouble follows you as loyally as that beast of yours." He smirked, then motioned for her to continue when he received a cold glare in response.

"You are quite dense, aren't you? This is serious. More serious than Lucien was." She crossed her legs and placed her goblet on the ground at her side. Hands now free, she pointed to her left eye. "This isn't _normal_. If you would take a moment to recall our last encounter, you'd remember that I had blue eyes then." He opened his mouth, a hurt expression playing over his features, but she held up her other hand to silence him before he even spoke. "I had a vision, thief, and in that vision a masked man came to me and offered me ultimate power in exchange for complete servitude. He ripped out my eye in this vision, and when I awoke, I had changed." Her lip curled in a sneer before she continued, voice low and dangerous, words urgent. "I've been reading, since then… The man who came to me was the Jack of Blades. He said that he needed my help, but what he showed me…" She stopped, shaking her head and pinching the bridge of her nose, a ragged sigh leaving her lips. _Composed, Sparrow. He will never stay to help if you scare him off, if you haven't done so already. _ When she looked to him to gauge his reaction, she saw a blank expression on his face.

"There… There was blood. A lot of blood." She erred on the side of caution, deciding to omit the part about it being _her_ blood, from her bloodline. The Heroine licked her suddenly dry lips before continuing, an expression of the anxiety she felt building within herself. "Theresa appeared and broke whatever connection he had established. Norman found me on the floor, there." A hand waved in the general direction of the doorway. She picked up her goblet, and took a large gulp. Sparrow chuckled bitterly, quietly, and watched the pirate, who was uncharacteristically silent. "I got some news, today, that confirmed my worries, though I gained no new insight."

"Sparrow, dear, all of this is a little… Difficult to take in." Reaver frowned, his handsome features darkening. "I know the legends of Jack as well as any Albionite – We all hear them as children. He was killed, though, was he not? How could he come back?"

"I don't know." She sighed again. "The details are few and far between…" Sparrow gestured toward her desk. "Theresa wrote me. The letter was cryptic and didn't offer any information. The same thing goes for what I received from Garth and my sister. It's all just rumors, so far, but I know that he's come back. He's got something planned…"

"Hmph. And now, what?" He barked out a harsh laugh, before placing his goblet down, and lacing his fingers together in a pleading gesture. "Let me guess, 'Please, Reaver! You've got to help save the world!'" Reaver said in a mocking voice, imitating Sparrow's accent. "_Again!_ Well, I think not. If what you've told me is true, I'd rather not risk my hide to save a lot of ungrateful peons from some bogeyman that won't stay dead." The pirate retrieved his goblet and drained it, afterwards reaching for the bottle to refill his cup. "Besides – Ultimate power? I'd take it, if I were you, girl. Find a way out of that servitude thing afterwards. Come on, I know you've got a brain in that pretty head of yours." As he said this, he had reached over to poke her in the temple.

"_Fine_." Sparrow snarled, eyes narrowing as she brushed his hand away. "I hadn't even asked for you help, you know. Pompous git." She drained the last of the alcohol from her goblet, grimacing at the burning sensation. "Who even said that I _needed_ your help, huh?" She held her empty goblet toward the pirate, who looked at her with a smug grin before refilling it.

"Now, now, my sweet, there's no need for name calling." He chuckled, observing the slight flush that now colored her features. Apparently, she was not much of a drinker – Either that, or she reacted strongly to intoxicants. He wondered how long she would try to match him, drink-for-drink. Reaver made a dismissive gesture. "In any event, your first assessment of why I've returned was correct. I need to make a trip to see my old _friends_ in Wraithmarsh." The way that the man said the word 'friends' implied that he considered the Shadow Court anything but. It was laced with mistrust, bitterness, and perhaps, Sparrow thought, regret. She nodded, sipping at the liqueur, and watched the handsome man's features go blank as he stared into the fire that crackled animatedly in the hearth. Another beat of silence, and Sparrow spoke. What she said surprised the Pirate King enough to break him out of his reverie.

"Good. I've got someone in mind, for you. Had her picked out since shortly after I moved here. Thought about dragging her into the marsh and just giving her over while you were away." She snorted, half-laughing at the shocked expression Reaver now wore. "What is it?"

"I never expected you to…" He gaped, fumbling for words. "After last time, you seemed so…"

"Angry? Upset? Nonplussed?" Sparrow supplied, drinking from her goblet, and then grimacing at the burn as she spoke again. "All would be correct, despite the inherent contradiction. You didn't even know me, and you tried to sell me out to shades for your own personal gain. It just so happens that I'm not too holier-than-thou to scoff at the moral high ground when it makes no sense in my long-term goals. Can you imagine, me fighting my way through the Spire, battling Lucien's men, with a cane?" She giggled, enjoying not only the ludicrous mental image, but also the momentary swing in power in their conversation. Evidently, the pirate had great misconceptions of who she was. He had frowned, and then a smile spread across his face as he too pictured an aged Sparrow beating Lucien's Spire Guards about the head with a cane.

Reaver shook his head, then looked at the Heroine. The woman was quite attractive – Not his usual buxom, overly-endowed blonde type – in her own way. She radiated quiet power, from the intensity of her eyes to the lean, toned curves of her body. He found her intriguing, with her glowing Will lines and tattoos, and wondered what sort of patterns ran across her skin under her clothing. He would love to follow those blue lines with his tongue, and see what sort of reactions he could elicit from the stoic Heroine. She didn't notice his stare just yet, as she was looking towards the door, half of her face cast in shadow, and the other half illuminated by the fire. That eye was unsettling, and the implications of what it could mean even more so; the firelight only accentuated the shifting amber-orange. Before he caught himself, he had reached a hand up to trace the ghosts of bruises beneath her odd eye. She jumped at the unexpected touch, and he quickly withdrew his curious digits, still looking inquisitively at the Heroine.

"Is something wrong?" She frowned, and inched away from the Hero of Skill. He had somehow gotten closer to her while they were talking.

"No, just… Curious." He smirked at her reaction, taking a drink from his goblet. "But, back to business. Who is this woman? And where is my Seal?"

"Her name is Mary. She's a thug." Sparrow's look of unease and confusion faded slightly as he redirected their conversation. "She likes to hang out by the waterfront and kick my dog." She sipped her liqueur. It had helped dull the pain in her head. "Your Seal is in the first drawer of that dresser in your room." Reaver had grinned idiotically when she confessed her reason for disliking the woman.

"She kicks your dog?" He laughed, hard. Sparrow just stared, a half-grin on her face as she watched the pirate try to suppress his laughter, his shoulders shaking with mirth. "Dear heart, you can no longer accuse me of being petty and selfish if I'm to take this woman's youth because she _kicks your dog!_" At that, he started laughing again. Sparrow shrugged, slamming back the remaining liquid in her cup.

"I've been nothing but kind to the dumb wench." She hiccupped. "I compliment her, bring her gifts when I can – Hell, I've gone out of my way to befriend the biddy. But what does she do?" Another hiccup, and she handed her empty goblet to the pirate. "She kicks poor Will. Stupid whore."

"Don't give those hard working ladies of the night such a bad name, Sparrow." He grinned, chastising her while shaking his head as he refilled her goblet. "And slow down, dear, or you may find yourself overcome by your infatuation with me, unable to control your desires anymore."

The pirate scooted closer to the Heroine, leaning on one arm behind her, as he passed her the full cup again. She snorted, mumbling a quick thanks, before rolling her eyes at him. Will grumble-growled at Reaver's close proximity to his lady.

"Oh, Reavah!" Sparrow gasped dramatically, free hand flying to her chest to cover her heart, as she mimicked the accent of the previously mentioned whores. "You kin 'ave me any time you like." He arched a brow at Sparrow, leering at her and leaning closer.

"Lovely Sparrow, you have no idea what I can do for you." He planted a kiss on her clothed shoulder, and continued huskily. "Or _to_ you, for that matter." He looked up at her, giving her a wink and a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. Will raised his head to growl and show his teeth to the pirate. 'You'd better keep off my lady, you deranged animal.' His glare spoke volumes. Sparrow, deciding the reason that she hadn't jumped back the moment he invaded her personal space, _again_, was due to the slight inebriation she was feeling, took the hand that had been covering her chest, planted it firmly on Reaver's face, and gently, playfully, shoved his head away.

"Thank you, sir, for your generous offer, but I'm afraid that I must decline." She sipped from her goblet, eyes full of mischief. "Besides, I imagine that you're _awfully_ tired from your journey – Where _did_ you go, by the way? – and you won't want to be disturbed, so that you can catch up on your beauty sleep. You're looking a little rough around the edges, _luv_." The way his expression fell at her comment was, she decided, priceless. The pirate pouted gloomily, and drained his goblet.

"You're one to talk," He sniffed, hurt. "I already told you I came back for that reason, there's no need to be _mean_ about my fading beauty." Sparrow laughed openly, enjoying the crestfallen look about the pirate. "Sadist." He muttered, pouring more liquid into his cup.

"_I'm_ the sadist?" A bark of laughter, and she grinned drunkenly at the pirate as she continued. "Says the man who kills for enjoyment; who sends poor, innocent girls into the haunted bloody wetlands next door to do his dirty work," She paused, taking a long drought from her drink, then poked the pirate in the chest before continuing. "Who tries to sell out the one person who can save his sorry hide, and winds up being surprised when he himself is double-crossed!" He rolled his eyes at the Heroine.

"Don't sound so _hurt_, Sparrow dear; we've already established that you are neither poor nor innocent." He snorted, a smile lurking at the edges of his mouth. "And really, it was a good idea at the time."

"Arse." She jabbed him again with her index finger. "So, when are we taking that woman into the swamp? And why are you visiting so soon? I'd figure you have at least another two or three years before any effects start showing…" An abrupt change in conversation kept her from venting her bitter feelings over their first meeting; playful jabs were alright, because she had forgiven him for his mistakes, but she wanted to avoid any serious discussion. She had not forgotten, despite any amount of alcohol or playful banter.

"So it's 'we', now, is it?" He arched a brow. "And yes, very astute of you to point out the frequency of my visits." The thief paused, taking a drink of his liqueur and a deep breath afterward, before continuing. "I'm planning on an extended journey away from Albion. I'll be leaving in a month's time. I've only come back to restock supplies and complete the necessary evils. I won't be back in time for my regular appointment, so I'll go early. Satisfied?"

"No." She said bluntly. "Where are you off to so soon? And you never answered my first question."

"Two days from now. Did you volunteer yourself for that trip?" He looked curiously at her, drinking again from his goblet.

"Yes. I'd like to hear her scream." She laughed at the way his expression fell. "She kicked Will so badly once that I had to make a trip all the way to Bowerstone to get the proper healing balm. Damn near took his dewclaw off when it got stuck on the buckle of her shoe. I dislike this woman very much." There was truth in wine, and Sparrow was being quite truthful about her feelings for poor Mary the Thug.

"See?" He said exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. "You _are_ a sadist."

"Hello Pot, my name is Kettle. You're black." She glared half-heartedly at him, a lopsided grin in place. "Where are you going on this 'extended journey'?" It was exciting to see one of her old allies again, even if it was her least favorite out of the bunch. Other Heroes were hard to come by in Albion, and laypeople just didn't get it when she chose to zap a group of bandits rather than just cut them up. The company of those whom she considered on her level was a blessing. And maybe, a part of her grudgingly admitted, she missed her comrades and their different personalities. Sparrow considered herself to be self-reliant ever since Theresa set her loose to exact her revenge upon Lucien. Caring for others too much only brought pain when you lost them – And it was never an 'if' statement about loss for her, but always a 'when.' The only sure thing in her life had been the constancy of loss; nothing lasts forever. The direction of her thoughts made her frown. Reaver saw this, and mistook the expression for dejection at the fact that he was leaving.

"Don't be so sad, luv." The pirate patted her knee gently. "I'll be back, again. I heard the most _in_teresting rumors of another country while I was in Samarkand. They're invading, you see, from the southwest. Already have a strong presence there." He sipped his drink, and gestured as he continued. "I aim to raid and pillage this new player so quickly they won't know what hit them. Perhaps I shall become King, there…" Reaver smiled, drifting off into pleasant fantasies about being the king of a country, and what sort of laws he could enforce about the dress of well-endowed ladies of the land. Sparrow had paled, the alcohol-induced blush draining from her face. Eyes wide in concern, she licked her lips, drained her goblet, and began fidgeting, picking at her fingernails. Will picked up the change in his lady's demeanor, and whined softly. The noise from the dog and the lack thereof from Sparrow were lost entirely on the Hero of Skill. In a moment, he shook himself from his reverie and looked over to the Heroine who was intently studying her fingernails which were in her lap. The sudden change in her demeanour caught him off guard.

"Sparrow?" He inquired softly, and she did not respond. Instead, she shifted anxiously, squinting her eyes as she peered off into the darkened corners of the room. As soon as he had finished his explanation, a heavy dread had filled her. Her pulse quickened, and her breathing became shallower as a buzzing filled her head. This was it; this was the beginning of it all again. _Convince him to leave sooner, Sparrow. Come to the lost continent, come to me…_ A voice that was not her own invaded her head and she reached a hand up to run her fingertips gingerly beneath her left eye. She was pale, panting, and ignoring him entirely; Reaver would be blind not to realize something had set her nerves on edge.

"Sparrow." He moved closer to her, placing his arm about her shoulders. She jumped as if a clap of thunder had sounded right next to her ears. The goblet that had been sitting beside her was bumped when she jumped, and it clattered noisily, emptily, onto its side on the hardwood floor. Mismatched eyes darted to the pirate's face, searching for the answer to a question she had not asked, and she frowned as the voice buzzed in her mind again. _He'll follow you, you know. He already serves me, after a fashion…_

"No," she breathed, fists clenching in her lap. Reaver was entirely confused. Was this woman insane? This was an extension of the abnormal that she had described earlier, he was sure of that much.

"No? What's the matter, little wing?" He questioned, peering curiously at the woman while drawing her closer to him. Her canine companion had gotten to his paws, and padded quietly to her opposite side. He whined, high and shrill, upset by this distressing change in his mistress' behavior.

"_What did you call me?_" She planted her palm against his chest and pushed back to look him squarely in the face. The voice in her head buzzed, laughing at the distress audible in the Heroine's voice.

"Nothing, luv, nothing but a pet name," He grabbed the hand that was placed against his chest, and rubbed comforting circles on the back of it with his thumb. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing, nothing," She lied blatantly, while trying to calm herself and push the buzzing from her mind. "It's just… Reaver, you must let me sail with you." Sweat had begun beading on her forehead, and she continued, words flowing fast, unsure, and desperate, as he opened his mouth to respond. "I-I-I can pay you, I have money, and-and-I-I can work, hard, to earn my keep, and-and-and—Oh, please, Reaver, please take me with you when you sail!" The pirate frowned, utterly confused by this swing in the Heroine's mood. Will whined again, and the pirate made eye contact with the dog. 'Why is she _doing_ this? I try to doze off for a few minutes, and all hell breaks loose.' He seemed to say, eyes speaking volumes.

"Alright, lovely, but there will be stipulations." His brows knit together in concern and confusion. There was a way to get something out of this arrangement, he knew, sensing the desperation in her.

"Anything, Reaver, anything!" She knew that her mouth was going to get her in more trouble than this arrangement was worth, and she felt as if she had no control of what she was saying. _Getting in over your head, aren't you, little wing? Never expect anything for free from the Shadows…_ The voice – Jack's voice! – buzzed in her mind, quieter than it had been before. She freed her hand from his, and gripped his shirt, white-knuckled and clawing at him, as her voice spilled from her. "Please, just—I'll do anything, just let me come along."

"Hush, shush, Sparrow," Reaver pried both her hands from his chest, and winced as she held his hands in a death grip. "I've agreed to let you come along. We'll discuss the terms in the morning."

Another drastic shift occurred in the Heroine as the hopeless look on her face was wiped into nothing. A blank expression covered her features, though he could have sworn that her fiery eye was glowing in the dim light, and she spoke her next words without any emotion.

"Yes… Yes, thank you. I think you're right." She released her death-grip on his hands, and pulled away from the pirate. "I think I'll go to bed, now. I'm sorry to ruin your homecoming." Sparrow stood slowly, ignoring the concerned wet nose that bumped her legs. "You'll find your room as you left it." And with that, she trudged out of the study, and slowly up the stairs. William had made to follow her, but stopped at the threshold between the study and the foyer, looking over his shoulder at the pirate. 'What's _wrong_ with her!?' He whined shrilly, his tail tucked between his shaking legs. Reaver heard a door click shut on the upper level, and he released a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding. The fading click-click of Will's claws on the hardwood meant that he was alone.

It was another two or three hours before he found himself sufficiently liquored up enough to sleep. _What an interesting night,_ Reaver thought to himself as he contemplated the last of the green liquid in his goblet, thinking over the conversation he'd had with the Heroine. What had caused her drastic shifts in temperament? He frowned, wondering if that vision she had spoken about, and the subsequent replacement of her eye had anything to do with her behaviour. He had snooped around her desk, reading her letters from that pompous mage and someone named Rose – Her sister, perhaps? The latest one from Garth had verified the information he'd chanced across, of an invasion happening in Samarkand.

Finally, he decided that this new information would be best thought over in the morning. He ascended the stairs slowly, furrowing his brow at the dog sleeping pressed to the second door in the hallway of the top floor. She had even shut her mutt out? Reaver shook his head, turning the handle on his own door, perturbed by this erratic behavior. Sleep found him quickly after he had stripped down and climbed beneath the blankets on his bed.

In the next room over, Sparrow had no such luck. At first, she had laid in bed, intent on getting to sleep as quickly as possible. However, the more that she sought sleep, the less she could attain it, irrational thoughts (Or maybe they weren't so irrational – Things had gotten considerably more complicated, recently.) racing circles about the logical voice that said 'Sleep is what you need, right now.' It didn't help things that she could still hear whispers that came from within, but she couldn't seem to make out what was being said. After tossing and turning for a few hours, she gave up on sleep.

So instead, she sat, back to a corner in her room, in the foetal position while holding her head. The Heroine let her mind run over all the facts she knew and make wild guesses as to what all of it meant. Jack had not left her, it seemed, and she wondered if that meant he would be privy to all information that came her way. If so, it made much more sense that neither Theresa nor Rose had communicated much to her. Could she even trust herself? How would she be able to save the world this time, if the enemy was within herself as well as outside her? Would she even be able to plan an attack against the Court without Jack knowing immediately? Such questions plagued her all night long, and the buzz in her head did not fully dissipate until the sun started painting the sky with the rosy hues of dawn.

* * *

**A/N:** Just two, and they're both about sounds. Have at.

Dog Noises: I have a pit bull terrier that is _very_ vocal, and can be persuaded to say some rather rude words. Think 'mother lover,' but with a nastier word than lover. Don't ask -- the dog says it, among other things. So, a lot of the noises that Will makes are based on a very expressive dog I know.

Jack's Voice: More a note for last chapter, but… Here it is. In my head, Jack's voice remained something similar to what it was in the first Fable, and not the sound in TLC. I suppose, in game design theory, it makes sense to have Jack speak in a really deep, unnatural voice, especially as a dragon, but… Eh. I'd prefer him as approachable, at least for the purposes of this story. Otherwise, how the hell is he supposed to corrupt Heroes to his cause? So, I hear him as Ron Perlman's rendition of Slade from Teen Titans. Go figure. :P

Next chapter, things will pick up the pace – New characters come into the mix, as well as new information. Also, it may be longer than the previous two. Who knows, really?


	3. Of Lies & Shards of Truth

Rose had been travelling for what felt like years, though she knew that it had only been a few months. She sighed, remembering the months of revelation and waiting that lead to her journey.

The rocky highlands surrounding the Hook Coast were frigid, and she had been stuck with Scythe in their half-buried home for the winter, not to mention mid-way into spring. This year, the winter had been hesitant to release the choke-hold it held on the land. The back of their house was inside of a hill, and that provided them some protection from the fierce wind. The fact that the dwelling was half underground helped to conserve heat. They had no other option than to sit and wait; hunkering down in the dim light of brief days, living off of stores of food and drink, and Rose trudging out (if it wasn't a total blizzard) to their small, half-buried barn to care for the goats and sheep that they kept.

It was over the long winter that Scythe started to train her in the more subtle uses of her latent Will abilities. She had learned many things over the eight years since her… Well, rebirth, she supposed was the proper term for it.

From the moment she awoke to find herself in a strange land, tall trees and rocky outcroppings surrounding her, alone, with memories of confusion and pain fresh on her mind, she had started a life that was far different to her previous one. The ancient Hero had found her within hours of her awakening, and they had walked for many days, Rose asking a non-stop barrage of questions about where she was, what had happened, where she'd been, and _where was her sister_? It was Rose's job to take care of little Sparrow – Had been her job to try to mother both herself and her sister, to keep them safe from the less-than-pure advances of some of Bowerstone's worst – and now, with her sister nowhere to be found, Rose was anxious.

On the first night of travelling, they'd made camp amidst the roots of an ancient tree. Rose, normally busy chatting away, more to ease her own nerves than actually expecting an answer (Scythe was rather quiet, but he seemed nice enough), was unusually quiet. The Hero clad in tattered blue and gold had kindled a fire – it made little difference to him, the cold had settled so deeply in his bones over the centuries that he'd grown used to it, but he doubted his young charge had such a tolerance for the chill – and settled down on the opposite side of the fire. Rose sat, staring blankly into the dancing flames, her palms held toward it for warmth. Where Sparrow was a silent, thoughtful doer, Rose was vociferous and more hesitant in her actions. This change in demeanour was not unwarranted, the older Hero had been vague in his answers, and details were nearly nonexistent. Scythe cleared his throat, and Rose looked over to him.

"You deserve a full explanation, Rose." He rasped, his voice low and gravelly. "What has transpired is unusual, though I cannot say it is an unprecedented occurrence. When you were murdered, a path was chosen for your young sister. She did not have a choice in that matter, but in all that followed after she was free to choose her own destiny. At the end of this path, she chose Love over all else, and so you were restored to life."

"Yes… Yes, I remember… Dying." Her face twisted into a torn expression, tears shining unshed in her eyes. "I remember wanting so badly to keep breathing, but it _hurt_. I had to, though, _had to_, because i-i-if I didn't—" She tried to hold back a sob, but failed, and made a choking noise instead. Rose crossed her arms, holding herself in an attempt to provide some comfort. Her elder gestured for her to slow down, aware that remembering such traumatic memories could be damaging to the girl. Nevertheless, Rose continued, a growing agitation apparent in her voice. "Sparrow, she'd be _alone_! And we promised, after Momma and Da left, we _promised_ that we'd _never_ leave each other alone!" These memories hurt, it was the honest truth. She hiccupped, and then looked at him with a pained expression, tears rolling down her face. "I-I-I _broke_ our _promise_!"

Those eyes, always those eyes; he made a rumbling noise in his chest, feeling paternal instincts override his better judgment. He had had children, once, a very long time ago, and he had outlived them all. But this little one had the same eyes… He supposed that it was the hallmark of his line, after all. Scythe had sighed, and shifted uncomfortably, before rising and rounding the fire to settle by her side, draping an arm around his young charge and pulling her close. Rose buried her face in his tattered cloak, shoulders shaking as she cried, hands fisting white-knuckled into the remains of blue fabric. He supposed that coming back from the dead was a traumatic experience, and all things considered, Rose was taking things rather well. She couldn't help but notice, as he stroked her hair gently, making soft shushing noises in an attempt to calm the girl, that he smelled of cool forests and loamy soil and parchment. It took a few moments for her to calm enough for conversation to begin again.

"You cannot blame yourself, young one." The elder said gently, his voice low and soothing. "That night was beyond your control. It was Fate that decreed you should leave your sister, and it was her Choice to guide Fate that has restored you."

"B-But why? Why did Lord Lucien want us dead, in the first place?" She sniffed, rubbing tears from her cheeks with the back of one hand.

"Fate, again." He growled softly. "Lucien was a knowledgeable man, though he was neither wise nor incredibly perceptive. In his doomed quest to revive the power of the Old Kingdom to eliminate the suffering and pain that he felt, he overlooked many things. Prophecy," Scythe paused, gesturing with his free hand. "Works strangely, especially when one reads it incorrectly. In his quest to find the Three Heroes, he found two others, more powerful than he could have anticipated. This was, however, predetermined. He was blinded by ambition, and thought that killing the two of you would solve his problems. Instead, he created an even larger problem, one that eventually led to his downfall; this 'problem' was your sister."

Rose sighed, frowning. Well, it was out of her control that she'd been robbed of life, he was correct about that. "So…" she began tentatively. "What happens, now? Will I see little Sparrow again?"

"One day, you will." Scythe grunted. "Now, you accept your heritage. You are a Hero far different than most others you will encounter. Once we return to relative safety, I will train you in the use of your natural abilities."

And he had trained her. She found that the bow staff was her preferred weapon; however spears did appeal to her, as well. They were isolated from the outside world, and it was with a bow and arrows that Rose refined her Skill. Her Will abilities, however, proved a bit more difficult to master.

Rose had grown taller over the years, developing from a girl on the verge of adolescence into a woman. She was struck from the same slender mould as her sister, though she did not match Sparrow in height; she was curved and lean, muscular despite her thin appearance. Rose let her mahogany hair grow long and stopped wearing it in pig-tails. Despite her mentor's insistence that she trade her skirts for a pair of trousers, she stubbornly stuck with what she liked, and learned how to move quickly in a skirt. Other talents manifested over the years, as well.

Along a similar vein as the Heroic siblings from Oakvale, Rose had the gift of foresight. It was shortly after her first cycle, marking her a woman and no longer a girl, that she'd had her first premonition. It was a minor danger, but it turned out to be to her advantage. In one early summer she'd awoken with a start, knowing immediately that she needed to get the two goats and one sheep out of the pasture and into shelter. She'd expressed this concern to the ancient Hero, but he'd told her to let the animals alone since the sky was clear that day.

The day misrepresented itself, however, all sunshine and fluffy white cumulus clouds, until around mid-afternoon, when the sky started to darken along the horizon, and winds started blowing in from the direction of the ocean. She'd been inside, writing a letter to her sister, when she felt in her gut that something was about to happen. Rose put her pen down, and rushed to the small fenced-in pasture further downhill from their dwelling, and set to herding the three animals back home. An ominous rumble heralded the oncoming storm, and she'd gotten the animals back into their pen in the small barn. However, she was curious still – What she'd seen in her dream was lightning striking the pasture and killing their livestock – if her instinct was going to prove her right. So, she grabbed a cloak of her own and made her way back down to the field, ignoring the wailing wind and growl of thunder growing louder as the storm descended.

Rose sat upon a boulder a good ways away from the field, pulled her cloak close, and waited. Sure enough, the blinding flash and deafening crack followed shortly thereafter, leaving singed grass in the field where the animals should have been. What happened next was a surprise, however. She felt it before she saw it, the hairs on her arms and neck standing on end right before the faint blue glow of ghostly flames outlined her form. She had gasped, looking at the way the ghostly flames flickered around her fingers; she had found herself wondering at the thin, faint blue lines that seemed to pulse gently in and out of existence over her skin. She turned her hand around, examining the way they seemed to follow the map of veins beneath her skin in some places, but then take on a life of their own, winding and curling elaborately in others. She smiled gently. How pretty!

Suddenly, she felt an energy prickle across her skin, and instinct told her to brace herself and reach skyward. She obeyed her gut, and was rewarded with two bolts of lightning – one racing from her outstretched arms toward the grey clouds, and the other, as if called, rushing down from the heavens. As the electricity coursed around her, through her, and into the ground, she gasped and cried out in surprise. Eyes wide, she looked around cautiously. Had she done that? The blue flames no longer danced about her form, but the flickering blue lines had gained permanence on her skin. She giggled, giddy on a rush of new energy, and looked to the sky once more. _They say lightning never strikes twice in the same place…_

With a grin, Rose called silently to the charge in the clouds above her with a raised hand, and she was rewarded with another bolt crashing around and through her. Her grin grew wider, and she laughed gaily. Amazing! Wonderful! Was this what her mentor had told her about, the Will ability that resided within her? She sat for the rest of the storm outside, calling the lightning down from the clouds, and when the dim sunlight that made it through the clouds began to fade, she trudged back home, soaked and giddy, spidery blue lines marking her new abilities tracing lightly across her skin. When Scythe saw his charge enter, he gave her a quick once over, and nodded his approval.

"Now, the _real_ training can begin." He inclined his head toward a pot hanging over the fire. "You should change into something dry and eat. Things get more challenging as of first light, tomorrow." That occurrence had been a good three years ago, now.

One morning, sometime after the shortest day of the year, Rose awoke from vague, shadowed nightmares, to a state of dread. Something had changed, though she did not know what, and that change would sweep the world, leaving naught but destruction behind it. How she knew all of this, she herself was not sure; Rose chalked it up to gut instinct, as her dreams often warned her of things before they happened. Scythe, her strange looking companion, had sensed it, as well. They never discussed this dread, but both knew the other felt it. Scythe felt the reappearance of The Court so strongly, it woke him from his rest with a cry of alarm. His moods darkened, and Rose could tell by his silence and reluctance to tell her stories of old that she craved, that something was worrying him. All they could do in the grip of winter, however, was to wait.

When the sun began to climb higher in the sky each day, and the snow finally started melting, a messenger arrived. Visitors were few and far between for the two, as they lived in relative isolation. The boy, just barely out of childhood, had arrived bearing news – letters from both Sparrow and Theresa. Sparrow's letter was merely a reply to her previous message, inquiring about her life and seemed to be normal. The letter that Theresa had sent confirmed that the vague threat Rose had perceived was real.

Theresa had explained in detail that what was darkening her mentor's mood was the revival of an ancient, powerful, and deadly foe. They were out for blood so that they could secure their domination over the entire world once and for all. The blood that they were after was that which flowed within her veins – within all of them, for that matter. It was through this letter that she discovered that she and Sparrow were never entirely orphaned, just that it took some time for Theresa, their aunt removed by some generations, to find the two. And Scythe, too, was a relation – He was _ancient_, though, far older than Theresa! After this, Scythe doubled her training, worried that what he'd already taught her wouldn't be enough to help her survive the coming struggle.

As spring grew into summer, they received another letter from Theresa. The blind Seeress had requested that Scythe travel and gather information, but to be very clandestine about his movements, since The Court would be after them all. She'd also requested that Rose leave home as well, and collect the Hero of Strength, Hammer, from where she was studying with Warrior-Monks. Rose found herself staring incredulously at the words on the page when Theresa began describing her sister. Her hands shook with anger when she read that _"Sparrow has been tainted. Fate once again rests on her shoulders, and the Choices she makes will determine whether or not this line survives. The Jack of Blades had reached her before I could, and now he tries to influence her. I know not if she has given into his temptation."_

Later that day, Rose found herself arguing with her mentor for the first time since she'd met him. How _dare_ Theresa speak that way of her sister!? Sparrow would _never_ sell them out, she chose _Love _over all else when presented with the opportunity! Her little sister _deserved_ to know what was going on, _especially_ after all she'd done, all she'd been through, for their sakes! Scythe had been agitated, and snapped at Rose for her lack of understanding about the delicacy of the situation. The Court was a dangerous enemy, and they could not afford to underestimate the possibility that they had already corrupted her beyond hope. He cautioned Rose against being too excited when going to meet her sister, for he knew better than all others, how much The Court could damage a person. They'd spent the rest of the day in brooding silence, gathering and preparing supplies for their separate journeys. At their evening meal, Rose had apologized for letting her temper get the better of her. Scythe had told her not to worry over such trivial things, and explained where they would be setting off to, tomorrow morning. He seemed tense, despite accepting her apology.

As Rose was about to turn in for the night, the ancient Hero called her to his sitting place by the fire. She came, made curious by his tone of voice. The Hero sat, gazing thoughtfully into the flames, a thin silver chain with a small pendant on it held between his fingers. As she took her customary seat across from him, he looked away from the flames and toward the young woman.

"I am sorry that it falls upon you to battle this evil." His voice cracked, and he looked away before continuing. She looked at him with wide eyes, brows knit together in concern. "I have known this foe for many, many years. You _must not_ underestimate the lengths the three will go to in order to achieve their goal. They play by no rules, and you must always remember that when dealing with any of them. Do you understand? Mark well these words, Rose." She nodded, sitting forward on the edge of her chair. This was important; she'd gathered that much from the sound of his rough voice.

"There are The Three, The Court, perfect in their trinity and in their power. The Jack of Blades is not to be trusted under any circumstances; he is full of guile and trickery, and he will try to tempt you into aiding his cause. Never listen to his words, for they are poison, and despite what he may promise, naught but despair will come of an agreement with him. He is a dangerous foe." Scythe was staring at her as he spoke, his voice low and urgent. She would be better prepared than he was when he faced The Court last, Avo help him. "Next is the Knight of Blades. He is vain and arrogant, and that can be used to your advantage. However, that is not to say that defeating him will be easy. He is fierce in battle, an unrelenting force once he begins an attack. Beware letting him out of your sight, for he will kill you before you realize where he has gone." Rose nodded, staring intently at the eyes set into withered skin. She could feel herself begin to shake, feeling simultaneously very anxious and very intrigued. "The Queen of Blades is a force entirely different than either the Jack or the Knight. She is _power_ first, and malice second, and she will not go quietly. Expect a fierce struggle when facing her, and be aware that not all who stand up to her will survive. There will be casualties. She will show you no mercy, so do not look for it. The Queen is more straightforward than the other two, but I will say again: She is power incarnate. She is dangerous beyond all measure. Do not face her unprepared." His voice fell silent, and his shoulders slumped forward.

Rose thought that suddenly, her mentor looked frail and tired. The thought made her intensely uncomfortable. She stood from her chair, and moved to sit by his feet, resting her head on his knee; it was a gesture meant to calm and comfort both of them. If Scythe was this worried, this matter was _very_ serious, indeed. He sighed, and shook his head, absently stroking her hair as he'd done when she was younger and needed to be calmed. The young woman reached to hold onto his hand, gripping the withered digits that appeared weak, but held true strength. The ancient hero sighed again.

"I fear for you, child. This will not be like your sister's battle for revenge with Lucien. I have done my best to prepare you for what you will face, and that should provide you with a sufficient advantage. However," He extended the withered hand holding the dangling chain in front of Rose. She reached hesitantly forward, and he placed the small amulet into her cupped palm. "If all I have taught you fails, and you find yourself in dire need of a way out when none is available, call on me. I will come."

"Thank you," Rose said softly, looking at the small amulet – Just bigger than her thumb nail – that was colored an intense blue. It appeared to be a similar sort of stone to that which adorned Scythe's armour. The casing that held the stone looked as if it once had elaborately carved designs on it, but time had worn them away to a few ghostly lines. The next day, it was the first thing she put on when making the final preparations to set off into the world.

The beginning of her journey started in early summer. By mid summer, she'd sailed, walked, and ridden quite a distance (for her, at least, seeing as this was the first time she'd been away from the relative seclusion of her second home). Finally, she made it to the enclave of the Warrior-Monks on the island situated further to the north of her own, and met Sister Hannah, or Hammer. The large woman dwarfed Rose in size, and the young Heroine had found herself intimidated – Until Hammer recognized her features and swept Rose off her feet in a great hug. She'd spoken highly of Sparrow, and told Rose it was wonderful to finally meet the person who drove her good friend onward in life.

"Oh, goodness! Look at you, and your _eyes_, oh! Just like Sparrow!" Hammer had prattled on, chatting with Rose for quite some time, providing detailed answers to questions she'd had few, vague answers to for most of her second life. The more she learned about her little sister, and what she'd done, the more worried she became. Rose felt her unease growing, an anxiety forming in her chest over what this reunion with her sister would mean. Would Sparrow be the same sort of person she'd been when they were children? It frightened her to think that she may not even know the person whom she loved most in the world. The Monks had allowed Rose to rest for a few days in their Monastery, something they allowed few outsiders to do, and shortly after her arrival she and Hammer set off to find her sister.

After a full week of walking back into civilization, and another three days onboard a ship, the two Heroines disembarked in Westcliff. Rose stuck close to Hammer's side – Handling dangerous beasts and Hollow Men was easy enough, but these thugs and their mannerisms bothered her. She couldn't tell who was trustworthy and who to avoid, since they all leered at her. Hammer said friendly greetings to one or two of the residents, and snickered as a Tattooist stopped Rose with shouts of "Sparra'! 'Ey Sparra'! Wot've ya gone an' done wit'cher ink?"

"Excuse me, um…" Rose squinted at the man covered from head to toe in elaborate black ink.

"Kiernan, don'cha remember?" The Tattooist arched a brow at her, crossing his arms.

"Mister Kiernan, then. I'm not Sparrow, I'm her sister." She glanced nervously up to Hammer, then back at the Tattooist, whose eyebrows were now both raised in disbelief.

"Cor, I had nary an idear tha' Sparra' 'ad a sista!" He guffawed and slapped his knee. "Well, kin' I interest ya in a bit o' ink, then? Mebbe after ya stomp through the Crucible, eh?"

"Uhm." She blinked, and Hammer placed a hand on her shoulder to lead the younger woman away from the Tattooist.

"Sparrow _did_ beat Mad-Dog's record last time we were here… Her first time through, too! That was right before she went away to the Spire. Never seen her so haunted looking as after she came back from that." Hammer said with a sad little smile as they headed out of Westcliff and further toward their destination.

"She has _tattoos_?" Rose asked, awe-struck, as they headed toward the Bandit Coast. She couldn't even fathom Sparrow, her kid sister, having marks all over her body. Hammer responded very nonchalantly.

"Oh, yeah. She's had plenty over the years – I was with her when she had her last set done. She was _tanked_, never could hold her liquor well, and we'd just come from the pub." Hammer laughed, smiling at the memory. "Sparrow turned to me, all seriousness and slurring words, and she says, 'Hammer, have I ever told you that the Jack-Slayer was my somethin'-great grandfather?' And I said, 'No Sparrow! I had no idea, though it does make sense.' Then she gets this crazy glint in her eyes, and stumbles off toward the Tattoo Parlour cacklin', me bringin' up the rear, yellin' at her, 'Sparrow! Where are you going? Have you gone daft?'"

The large woman paused, taking in their surroundings before carefully picking a path from a fork in the road before continuing her story. "And so, I follow her in there, and I'm just in time to see her slam a fist and a bag of gold – She's very generous, you know, gave the startled guy twice what the ink was worth – onto the counter, then jab at the tattoo cards on the counter." Rose found herself smiling in anticipation, picturing the scene as it unfolded. "'Attsa one! You know, s'my great-great-and-so-on-granddaddy s'one who offed this arse, huh?' Sparrow was a _mess_, let me tell you, all grins and liquor as the guy nodded, his eyes wide and terrified, as she demanded he put that pattern on her skin." Hammer burst out laughing, then between gasps for air, she struggled to speak. "Oh! – An' then, when he's about done with her stomach, he asks her to flip over, and – Ahaha – She does it, right? Then she sprays the last ten drinks she's had all over the floor. You should'a seen that guy's face!"

While Hammer had continued laughing, Rose's face had fallen, and she looked unsure of herself. Sparrow had marked herself with the Cult of Blades sign? She frowned, remembering what Theresa had warned her about. Hammer had noticed that her companion was not nearly as amused as she should have been by the story, and she looked at Rose with concern.

"Rose? What's wrong?" Hammer frowned, peering down at the younger woman.

"Oh, n-nothing…" She lied terribly, and she knew it. So instead of trying to brush her melancholy worries aside, she told the truth. Hammer was the closest thing she'd ever had to a friend, and she figured that it would be alright to bring the Hero of Strength up to speed. "It's just… Ever since I started on this quest, you know, to get you and find my sister, I can't help but worry. Theresa said that when I see Sparrow again, I shouldn't… Shouldn't get too happy or attached, because she's… She could be 'tainted,' whatever that means. And it just makes me nervous to hear that she put the sign of _his_ followers on herself." Rose's brows knit together in an expression of worry, and she wrung her hands anxiously.

"Well," Hammer frowned thoughtfully, watching Rose. "I know Sparrow better'n most, and believe me when I tell you, she'd _never_ save the world from one evil just to sell it out to another, later." She waved a hand dismissively. "Bah, tainted. Sounds like a load of rubbish, if you ask me. Besides, she's got a twisted sense of humour. It was a joke to her, when she went and got that ink done. A drunk and awful joke, but still just a bit of fun. So don't you worry too much."

"I suppose… She was always a bit mischievous when we were younger. It would only make sense that she'd find something like that amusing." Rose nodded, and Hammer smiled gently, pleased that she had eased her new friend's worries.

As the sun sank slowly toward the horizon, the two Heroines found themselves traipsing through the muck and gloom of Wraithmarsh. After several unpleasant encounters with Balverines, Hollow Men, and a Banshee. Rose thought that the Banshee was by far, the most unpleasant thing she'd ever fought against; it left her in tears, hurling angry fireballs at the floating dust rag for each false accusation the creature planted in her mind. Hammer called to her, urging Rose to calm down and consider that none of what the beast was saying held any truth, as she swung her war hammer at the small shadow-minions summoned by the Banshee.

The thin voice of the Banshee invaded her thoughts, and left a mark even after it was merely a charred pile of rags. She was still worried about her upcoming reunion. When the moon rose and cast ghostly shadows across the landscape, the travellers decided that a rest in the drowned farm they had come across was a good idea. The moonlight played tricks on their eyes, and more than once, Rose had cast a bolt of lightning at mere wisps of mist that rose from the marshland. They would sleep in shifts, Hammer declared, after barricading the doors and windows on the first story with several pieces of ruined furniture. Rose fell into an uneasy sleep, dreams invaded by the Banshee's voice.

* * *

In Bloodstone, Sparrow found herself awaking on the hardwood flooring in the most awkward position she'd ever passed out in. Her arm was all pins and needles from where it had been trapped half beneath her, and her mouth felt dry. With a soft groan, she picked herself up off the floor, and frowned when she heard William whine softly outside the door. He woofed curiously, nose pressed to the gap between the door and the floor. She stretched as she walked around the room to the door, and cracked it to allow Will entrance. She wasn't ready to face the day, just yet, especially since they had a house guest. Well, really, she'd been living in his house, so did that make she and Will the house guests? She cocked a brow at that thought. Will had padded to the curtains, and was busy nosing between them to let the late morning sunlight into the room. Sparrow approached him, and then sat on the bed.

"Will, what happened? Why were you outside?" She questioned the dog, bringing a hand up to shield her eyes as he succeeded in allowing a fair amount of light into the room. He looked at her over his shoulder, and grumbled. 'Oh, you don't remember? Well, you _locked me out_!' The dog growled, and tore more roughly than he should have at the curtains, and was rewarded with the sound of tearing fabric. The amount of light he had let into the room wasn't overly painful, but it made her odd eye throb, which in turn, caused the beginnings of a headache. Perhaps things were getting better with the eye-causing-immense-discomfort-you-bastard-Jack-situation. William huffed, and sat out of arms reach, then continued to glare sulkily at his lady. 'Come on, you know I don't have thumbs. That was just plain mean, that was. I was _worried sick_ about you!' He dipped his head briefly, looking away before glancing shyly back. 'So watch out when you leave the room. I made a mess.'

"Well, I'm sorry, pup." The Heroine smiled, and knelt on the floor next to her companion. She extended a hand towards him, and after he pointedly ignored her for a few seconds, nose in the air while looking the other direction, he turned his head to hesitantly lick her knuckles. Sparrow grinned, and launched herself at the dog, wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers scratching behind his ears and along his jaw line. Will groaned as she started scratching _that_ spot, eyes fluttering shut, his hind leg moving of its own volition to scratch at the air. "I've not been myself, lately, you know that. I was… Distracted, last night."

One light brown eye popped open, and he snorted. 'One helluva distraction. You ditched me! And—Ooh—Don't think that this—Ah!—Makes it all better.' She smirked, doubling her efforts, and the dog leaned into her persistent scratching. 'Though it might come close.' Sparrow stopped scratching her friend when she heard noises coming from the lower level of the house. She frowned, thinking firstly of the assortment of odds and ends she'd collected to use in her experiments. Reaver would have no idea what any of that was and he could wind up hurting himself. Will seemed to have a similar thought, and with a few slobbery tongue marks on Sparrow's face in parting, he had padded back toward the door. The dog looked over his shoulder at the Heroine, then up at the doorknob, and then back again. 'No thumbs, remember? I'll go see that nothing is broken… Too badly.' His tail had taken up a slow back and forth swing, and a canine grin was growing on his muzzle. She made her way to the door, and let William out. She'd better prepare for the day ahead before going down to see what had become of her experiments.

Half an hour later, she had washed—And wished, all the while, that she could just sit and soak for a few hours—reapplied make up, and changed into her business attire. A top she had gotten from a little island a few years back, made specifically for a warrior queen—Brodican, that was the tribe!—and how fitting and functional it was on her, the Queen of Albion. The Assassin's Trousers were her preferred bottom piece – Flexible, functional, and quiet, with none of the associated risks of exposure that came with skirts, and the Assassin's Boots made a nice, silent ensemble. She plucked the Solar Shielding Spectacles from the top of her dresser, and placed them on her face. Why hadn't she thought of these, before? She could have gone out to re-stock the pantry at the very least, had she remembered these glasses earlier. The Heroine sighed, grabbing a Cropped Jacket and stuffing the gauntlet-and-gloves combination that had come with her top into a pocket, before she walked over to the door and picked up her weapons from their recumbent position nearby. The Daichi was a powerful katana, and she had stumbled upon it by sheer chance. She had been playing fetch with Will in Brightwood, shortly after she purchased the Tower there, and fell backwards over a broken railing. Her ranged weapon had been a good trade on that small island – Hal's Rifle held more bullets than other guns. Before encountering this rifle, she'd been a strictly crossbow only girl. Sparrow's reverie was broken by the sounds of chaos.

She wondered idly what the two males had been doing during the period of relative calm before this outburst. Sparrow would have been surprised to know that Reaver had been talking to her dog while uncovering all of the windows in the house. She would have been even more surprised to find out that her dog had agreed with the pirate.

When William had first left her, the canine had padded downstairs to find that the noise he'd heard was a stack of books that was now scattered across the floor. As he nosed the door to the study open, he saw the smelly pirate with his feet up on Sparrow's desk, flipping through a leather-bound journal. 'Sparrow isn't going to be very happy about this...' The dog grumbled, and padded slowly toward the pirate. What the heck was this guy doing? Reaver had paid the dog no mind, flipping through the pages of slanted, curved writing that became sloppy and nothing more than scratches in some places. The Old Kingdom, strange formulas, drawings of plans, words that he didn't quite understand – Sparrow was in a league all her own. He flipped a few more pages, and found a short personal note with a slip of parchment tucked into the pages nearby. A brow shot up in curiosity, and he glanced to the dog.

"Who's this Rose, hm? Goodness, this woman has some odd hobbies..." Reaver flipped a few more pages, and nearly jumped at finding himself on a strange piece of paper that was attached to the page. He squinted, discerning that this image was not a painting (though it would be a very skilled painter to create this sort of image), but a depiction of real life. That was his manor, and that hunk of stone that remained an unfinished statue. Then realization dawned on him.

"Ah! Would you look at that, eh, dog?" He held the book out to William, who merely grumbled and looked unimpressed. Reaver scowled at the dog, then set the journal back in his lap. This was the image created by that oddball of a man, Barnum. Too bad Reaver had killed him, he rather liked the way this image appeared. "I thought that was _quite_ the dashing image, myself, but I suppose some individuals are more critical..." William snorted. The pirate turned the page, and found another photograph. Two young girls smiled up at him from the page; the older of the two was on the verge of becoming a woman, but still had a ways to go. The younger of the two, he recognized after squinting for a moment. She stood in a heroic pose, grinning triumphantly.

"This must be Sparrow, huh? And, putting the pieces together, this other girl is Rose. Am I right?" He cocked a brow toward the dog, then frowned. "Why am I talking to you? It's not as if you can speak back."

'Yeah, it's not as if I can speak back.' William shook his head with a snort, rolling his eyes in a very human gesture. It wasn't as if anyone but his lady really understood him. He approached the pirate, and hopped up, placing his front paws on the armrest of the chair to peer at the page the man was so interested in. 'Yep, them's the sisters.' He woofed softly. Reaver hesitantly patted the canine on the head, looking at the animal with some distaste. The man flipped a few more pages, and as he neared the middle of the book, loose pages fell and scattered across the floor.

With a groan, he set the journal on the desk, open to the page the papers had fallen from, before leaning down to pick up the pages. He started when he saw that the writing on these pages was his own. The pirate cursed aloud, after placing them back in order. That was a careless move, leaving these scattered around the house when he left. After skimming over what he'd written many years ago, he moved to replace them in Sparrow's journal; something caught his eye on the open pages that were, aside from a few sentences, entirely blank. Reaver narrowed his eyes, his brows knit in displeasure.

_Know why Wraithmarsh exists. Reaver bartered Oakvale for eternal youth. Should have made a better deal; much work to keep covenant with Shadow Court. Suppose he's still a person, somewhere beneath the massive ego; nightmares say as much. Guilt? Wonder if he'd ever discuss the details. Probably never see him again. If so, will punch him for killing Lucien. Also – Getting fat? Definitely __not__ a cow._

"She hasn't punched me, yet." He ran a finger thoughtfully over the patch of facial hair just below his lower lip. "Guilt? Ugh, does she feel sorry for me, mutt?" The pirate looked to the dog, glaring. "Because she shouldn't, you know. I don't feel badly about anything, so there's no need."

Again, the dog snorted and rolled his eyes again. 'Keep telling yourself that. I can smell your discomfort.' His pink tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth as he began to pant, a canine grin on his muzzle.

"This foray into Sparrow's personal writings has become a little too..." He waved a hand dismissively, closing the book and setting it aside. The pirate then stood, stretching; green eyes met golden-brown, and the lithe man decided to improve the situation in the manor. "Come on, dog. It's a bit stuffy in here – Not to mention dark."

Over the next few minutes, the Pirate King made quick work of the curtains on the windows, and pulled a few of them open to allow some fresh air into the manor. He had chatted idly to the dog, simply for the sake of hearing his own voice. William would sometimes woof or growl, either agreeing or disagreeing with the man. He found that he quite agreed with the pirate's assessment of his mistress and her reclusive ways.

"One would think that, with a house like this, she'd have had a number of exclusive parties... But from the looks of things, it doesn't appear that way." Reaver muttered, a scowl on his face, pulling the curtains open on one window. Will snorted and whine-growled. Parties were definitely not his thing. Too many people, and far too many chances for his tail to be stepped on. "Sparrow will need to get over her aversion to light soon, or she'll be entirely useless when we set sail." He smirked, then added. "Well, not _entirely_ useless; I'm sure that I could think of a few things she could do..." The dog growled at the suggestion, glaring at Reaver.

"She really should loosen up, you know? Get out and see people. It's not healthy to be holed up like this all the time." He peered over his shoulder at the dog, whose tail had started thumping a slow rhythm on the floor at that suggestion. "So you agree, huh?"

'Of _course_ I agree! It's not like I haven't been trying.' Will grumbled, wondering if the man even understood him. 'Every time we go out, I try my hardest to get her to speak with any male I deem worthy. So far, as you can very well see, it hasn't worked.' He wrinkled his nose, front teeth half showing in a frustrated expression. 'I know you two-leggers are social creatures. However, there's only so much socializing one can do with a dog.'

"What do people think of her? Living alone in an expensive house, with only a dog as her house mate." He laughed wickedly, waggling his brows at the dog. "Have you ever...?"

The response given was swift and to the point. William snapped at the air, teeth clicking together loudly. The dog then whine-snarled, standing to shake his fur to dislodge the uncomfortable, gross feeling at the suggestion. 'You're _sick_. That's just downright _disgusting_.' He barked loudly at the man, glaring and showing his teeth.

"I'll take that as a 'no', then." Reaver laughed to himself. With a quick glance around the foyer, the pirate determined that there was enough light in the house. So, he decided to return to rummaging through the Heroine's belongings in hopes of finding something more interesting than her journal.

Later, as Sparrow opened her door, she heard a small explosion, the tinkling of breaking glass, William barking loudly, and Reaver spitting a string of curses. _Well, it appears that he found my toys._ She thought, sighing and shaking her head as she descended the first set of stairs in the house. The acrid smell of smoke was already wafting her way. As she came down the second flight, she saw a dissipating cloud of oddly colored smoke billowing from the study, beams of early morning sunlight from the newly uncovered windows filtering through it. Will's voice was raised in a long string of barks and growls – A counterpoint to Reaver's loud cursing. Sparrow first went to the front door, and threw it open, hoping that the airflow would rid the house of the smoke sooner rather than later.

"G'morning, Norman." Sparrow chirped cheerfully, popping her head outside briefly.

"Oy, what's goin' on in there?" The butler coughed at the smoke that had started flowing out of the door. This was nothing new; he was quite used to Sparrow's odd experiments, and the explosive results that some had.

"Just... Reaver playing with things he knows nothing about." She said quickly, casting a glance over her shoulder back into the house. Sparrow jerked her thumb in the general direction of the chaos. "I should go make sure he doesn't destroy anything else."

"Good luck!" Norman called after the woman who had disappeared from the doorway, shaking his head. These Heroes were crazy, all of them.

What Sparrow saw when she entered the study made her immediately clap a hand over her mouth to suppress and muffle the laughter threatening to spill out and leave her breathless. Reaver had found her experiments, alright.

The chest that she kept under her desk had been pulled out and opened, various smaller boxes labelled 'CAUTION' and 'FRAGILE' spread about the floor around it, their tops askew. Broken glass from a couple vases littered the floor in front of the fireplace. William, his fur now a splotchy mess of red, purple, and green over top his natural muddy brown, stood between Reaver and the open chest's contents, barking angrily. Reaver stood, his hair blown back and sticking up at odd angles, alternately glaring at the dog and the smoking pile of splintered wood, springs, and stuffing where an armchair had once stood. His face, clothing, and gloved hands were smudged with purple and green, and a singed spot stood out prominently on his cape.

"Well, how was I to know that would happen!?" The pirate yelled at the dog, one fist clenched at his side, the other pointing at a very upset Will. "You should have bloody warned me, mutt!"

The dog growled and snapped irritably, his teeth clicking together, as he glared right back at the thief. 'You shouldn't have been playing in things you know nothing about, idiot! Now look at my fur! It took me a _week_ of bathing to get this color out, last time! Do you have any idea how much I _hate_ bathing with soap!?'

"Well, great job averting catastrophe, damnable creature," Reaver grunted, eyes narrowing at the dog. He took a step forward, one hand still pointing, the other hovering near his waist over his pistol. Will bore his teeth, snarling at the approaching man. No way was he going to let this guy near those boxes, again. He'd barely made it out of the way the last time that the pirate got his hands on Sparrow's work!

"Will you stop that already, you damn animal!" He shouted, and William took up a fighting stance, standing firmly in the pirate's way, now deathly still and in a glaring contest with the Hero of Skill. "Oh, come on!" Reaver hissed, jerking his hand away as the dog snapped and lunged. His other hand whipped out his Dragonstomper .48, and he aimed at the canine after making a tactical retreat of a few steps. The gun was a threat he would use, at this point, though he did not know how far he would truly be willing to take that threat. He had seen Sparrow at work, first-hand, as she battled to reclaim what she held dear. The Pirate King pitied anyone who crossed the woman. "We have to put this mess back in order before Sparrow gets up." He stated, looking exasperated. "I'd prefer to keep her guessing as to whether or not we've been rifling through her things."

'_We_!? What do you mean, 'we'!? _I_ had nothing to do with _your_ brilliant idea, here!' William growled, incredulous, as he moved to begin a slow circle around the pirate. It would be better to stay on the move, easier to dodge bullets that way, the dog concluded.

"Don't you look at me like that, mutt! It's not my fault that woman has dangerous toys lying about." He sneered, slowly stepping to keep an eye on the dog as he moved. Sparrow decided that, however amusing this scene playing out before her was, she should intervene before it got even more out of hand. She cleared her throat, and stepped through the doorway, an eyebrow arched at the situation.

"I sincerely doubt that my toys were lying around in the open, Reaver." She tried to keep the humour out of her voice as she made her way toward the scattered boxes. A quick once-over appraisal of things, and she felt extremely relieved that he hadn't found the box at the bottom of the chest. The explosive power contained within the two iron spheres there would have blown out the windows of the house, if not destroyed the first floor. The pirate holstered his pistol and crossed his arms moodily.

"Well, what in all Albion was that?" He jerked his chin toward the remains of the sitting chair. Sparrow couldn't help herself anymore, and started to laugh. Reaver scowled darkly. "What's so damn funny, woman?"

"Oh, look at the two of you!" Sparrow laughed, pointing at Reaver and William. "You're covered in stains and singed in places! And the chair!" Faced with Reaver's dark expression and William's disgruntled whine-grumble, Sparrow coughed and attempted to regain her composure. With a deep breath, she set her weapons down, and went to putting things back in order. "I hope that teaches you not to rifle through others' possessions." The Heroine picked up a box labelled 'EXPLOSIVE CARGO' and 'DO NOT DROP,' and fully removed the lid to find three empty spots in the nest of dried straw and shredded paper within. Five spheres remained, the latches attached to them still firmly locked in place. "These," she angled the box so that the pirate could see the remaining spheres. "Are minor distractions. They don't really do much other than provide a small explosion, a loud noise, and a whole lot of smoke. They're good for covering your retreat." She replaced the lid, and set the box carefully back into the chest. "Or for signalling – The colored smoke is a nice addition." A crooked grin made its way to her face, and she looked from the glowering pirate to the wreckage of the armchair. "And apparently, they're good for destroying furniture, as well."

"Oh, stop that." Reaver scoffed at her jab. "Is it really _my_ fault that _you_ didn't label your exploding 'distractions'? Besides, they're in _my_ house!" Sparrow waved her hand dismissively, and continued collecting her inventions and placing them back into the chest. When she was finished, she picked a specific key from a rather large key ring, and locked the chest.

"There now," she winked at the pirate. "We'll have no more accidents, hm? Sneaky bugger." Sparrow then frowned, looking from the pirate to her dog and back again. "You're not going to be very happy for a while."

"What?" He snapped, eyes narrowing. "Why?"

"Well, I haven't quite figured out the dyes in the smoke, so…" She shifted uncomfortably, ready to move if he took the news too badly and decided that murder would be a fitting retribution. "Well, you're going to be, ah, quite colorful for a few days. Sorry." Sparrow shrugged. It really wasn't her fault that he was so nosy, and had decided to rifle through her experiments. Putting gunpowder into different concentrations and larger projectiles than guns had been a novel idea, she thought. Mixing in dyes to color the smoke was a good idea at the time, as well.

"Oh, great." He snarled, pointing his pistol at the Heroine. "You know, I _should_ shoot you for this." Sparrow had expected this sort of reaction; Reaver was, after all, quite petty. She shrugged and gestured at him.

"It could be worse. It's mostly on your clothing…" She could see a vein pulsing on his forehead. Anything that threatened his _dashing_ good looks would be sure to enrage him, and she supposed temporary colorful smudges, while definitely not scarring or remotely disfiguring, would be enough to upset him. "I mean, look at William! Comparatively, you got off pretty lightly, I'd say." She smiled tentatively, hands held in a non-threatening position, palms open, as she shrugged helplessly. The Heroine could see the muscles in the pirate's jaw working, and, if she squinted just right, she was fairly certain that she could read his thought processes, which consisted of 'Kill the bloody wench! Shoot her! NOW!' at the moment.

Reaver took a deep breath and sighed, dropping his pistol to his side. He ground his teeth in sheer aggravation – He would be a laughing stock! The future embarrassment alone was enough to warrant putting a bullet in the woman's brilliant head, but he had a better idea, instead. Sparrow approached him slowly, and then placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. His green eyes were dark with malice and the threat of murder, and he spared her merely a glance before looking away with a sneer. It was taking everything he had not to send the woman flying with a backhanded slap. She smiled meekly, licked her thumb, and then attempted to rub one of the brightest splatters of green off of his jaw. He didn't look at her. She frowned, licking her thumb again to continue her attempts at rubbing the green off of him.

"Reaver, you know, it really could be worse. There's none in your hair, and I'll bet if you hurry and wash this, you'd get most of it off." She held up her thumb, now stained green. "See?" William's ears perked at this, his tail wagging hesitantly. It was time for a swim, and maybe a nice roll in some dirt and something smelly, if he could find anything. With a soft woof, he turned and padded out the front door, and towards the ocean. He'd be damned if he was going to run around this colorful. Sparrow observed this from the corner of her eye, and smirked, shaking the pirate's shoulder gently.

"C'mon, Reaver. You haven't even seen what I've done to the bathroom, yet." Sparrow tugged on his hand, and he scowled her way.

"I don't know if I can handle any more of your 'surprises.'" He ground out, and gave in, allowing the woman to tug him along. She smiled apologetically, and pulled him by his wrist up two flights of stairs, and toward a room that had previously just contained a chamber pot and a tub. When she opened the door, he whistled low in amazement. This woman was crafty, he'd give her that. Her sense of style may have been a bit warped or simply boring (all those book cases certainly did clutter things up while he'd been gone), but he would admit that he appreciated this bit of ingenuity.

"How long did it take you to figure this out?" His eyes had lightened from their murderous shade back to normal, even curious, as he appraised the room with raised brows. Finely cut and polished warm grey stone tiles – He'd have to ask her where she'd imported the stone at a later time – were set on the floor and halfway up the walls. The rest of the exposed wall surface was the same wood panelling as the rest of the house. On one wall, what appeared to be a tub (the opening of the window was right above this, at about eye level) was set into a slightly raised dais. It had three strange looking turn-knobs on it, and two spouts at different heights. Glass bottles containing different colored liquids sat on one corner of the tub. There was a curtain strung half-heartedly, the twine it was one stretched across the room to block the tub from view from the rest of the room. The room contained a strange looking seat with two more turn-knobs, a sink with a mirror, and a stack of towels on a shelf. Of all the wonderful things in the bathroom, the curtain happened to be the most pathetic, he decided. It looked like an old piece of sail canvas.

"You've been gone for nearly a decade. Things get boring in Albion." Sparrow shrugged, and moved past the pirate, into the bathroom. "Time is something I have a lot of. Money, too, since I own everything there is to own in Albion." Another shrug and she grinned ruefully at the curtain. "I can afford to indulge my odd hobbies… Which, by the way, don't include sewing." Reaver snorted, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Sparrow sat on the edge of the tub, and twisted the two outside knobs, which caused water to pour from the lower spout. "The water should warm up soon enough. To turn it off, just twist these in the opposite direction." A glance back at the pirate, who was looking very impressed (for once) with her renovations. He nodded, but did not step aside as she made to leave the room, to allow him some privacy. Instead, he grinned and blocked the doorway.

"Why don't you give me an _in_timate tour of how this entire new set-up works, hm?" He took a step closer to the Heroine, while undoing the buckles that held his cape in place. Somehow, he'd already managed to get his gloves off without her noticing. The cape fell to the floor with a soft thud, and she swallowed nervously. Reaver reached a hand up, and plucked the shaded glasses off of her face. She squinted at the brightness, but found, to her surprise, that no pain grew in intensity behind her left eye. He set her glasses on the sink, and took another step toward the woman. She matched his approach by taking a step back, trying to maintain a safe distance from the pirate. _Where's that dog of mine when I need him?_ She thought desperately. The pirate had busied himself working the tie he wore out of a knot, and once that was out of the way, he started on the buttons of his shirt.

"Surely I could convince you to have a little _fun_ before you go back to duty as usual?" She found her convictions wavering slightly, as a small part of herself admonished her for turning down such an offer, because, after all, she had been quite a hermit since all this Spire business happened, and didn't she deserve a reward every once in a while? Another, slightly larger voice made a counterpoint to the first: one, he's dangerous, two, he's untrustworthy, three, this is a business _first _relationship, and four, that he's only after one thing. She was thankful that Jack hadn't chimed in and offered his opinion on her decision-making processes, as well. That thought almost made her laugh, but the man before her was hypnotic in his motions and he kept her distracted. Sparrow was finding it difficult to keep her eyes on his face as his fingers and hands kept moving lower, deftly working buttons until his shirt hung open. He smirked at the faint pink blush that had bloomed over her face.

"Reaver, I really should leave you alone, now. The front door is wide open, and there's still a mess downstairs, and what if someone walks in on this, and-and-and—" She made a noise of surprise when the Pirate King began working at the belt buckle around his waist. He merely chuckled and stepped toward her again, pausing his work on his belt to shed his shirt entirely as he moved in for the figurative kill.

"'What if someone walks in?' Sounds like you've acquiesced to my request, luv." Reaver smirked and flicked his tongue over his lips before continuing with a smirk. "I say, let them. The more the merrier, right?"

"Wh-Wh-No! What!?" That snapped her out of her temporary daze. She glared at the half-nude man, and shouldered her way past him, intent on getting out of the room as quickly as possible now. He caught her wrist as she was making her escape, and held firm.

"Oh Sparrow, don't be like that. I know we may have started off on the wrong foot, but I can be a _very_ pleasant person." Reaver winked at her. He believed that glassy look in her eyes, and the way she held her head slightly to one side meant that she was considering what he'd said. He raised her hand to his mouth, and planted a kiss atop her knuckles. Reaver was very sure of himself. From the rosy coloring on her cheeks, to the way her breath came in shortened gasps between slightly parted lips; surely that all meant that he would get his way. However, ever the champion of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, he continued, smirking. "Besides, dear heart, I've been at sea for _weeks_, and let me tell you, a lot of smelly, ill-kept pirates and brigands does absolutely _nothing_ for me. Not like _you_ do, beautiful."

Her eyes came back into focus, and she cleared her throat. Sparrow could have sworn that she'd heard something earlier, and she'd mostly ignored the pirate's previous comments in the interest of finding the source of the noise. A brow arched in the echo of a question she did not ask, she pulled her hand from his grasp, and then glanced over her shoulder into the hallway. She looked back to him, her mouth set in a thin line. The smirk remained on his face, looking ever like the cat that had caught the mouse.

"No, Reaver, I don't think that I'll join you." Sparrow said evenly, stepping backwards once more, into the hallway. "Hurry up. We never finished our business talk, last night. And there's still the matter of that mess downstairs." The pirate looked crestfallen momentarily, but quickly recovered. If possible, he looked even more smug than he had previously, after his brief expression of disappointment.

"Ah, yes. That's right, we do have some logistics to discuss about your safe passage." The Pirate King had continued working his belt undone, and the buttons on his pants followed shortly. Sparrow nodded, averting her gaze from the Hero of Skill and focusing instead on the wood grain on the wall. "I'll get cleaned up, and we can finish that discussion." And before things became too indecent, Reaver shut the door, leaving Sparrow to breathe a sigh of relief in the empty hall.

She turned and headed back downstairs, running a hand absently through her hair. That man had absolutely no shame, she concluded; Sparrow shouldn't have been surprised by that fact. As she reached the bottom floor, she winced briefly at the light flooding into the house. Well, things were improving with the eye, and as long as she remained out of direct, bright light, she believed that her headache would stay at bay. The Heroine headed into the study, to begin piecing things back together.

Sparrow decided, after a once-over of the mess, that the desk would be the best place to start. The woman eased herself into the chair before her desk, and began organizing papers into stacks. As she was putting notes back in order, a hissing sound caught her attention. She tilted her head, peering about the room in an attempt to find the source of the noise. Hopefully it wasn't a mistreated explosive, getting ready to blow. That worry in her mind already, she was entirely unprepared for the voice that came from nowhere and everywhere made her jump, scattering the parchment in her hands.

_You should have taken the thief up on his offer, little wing. You're far too serious._ It said, followed by a laugh that was almost amused. Sparrow cringed, pressing a palm to her forehead. _You disagree, obviously, though I cannot fathom why._

"Listen, you –" The Fourth began, then stopped, taking a deep breath. Was she really addressing the voice in her head aloud? Yes. Yes, she was. Sparrow hoped that Reaver ignored her comment about hurrying his bath; she did not need him walking in on her conversation with the air. She grit her teeth and continued. "Listen, _Jack_, I'm not going to give in to every carnal desire I may or may not have, every time I have one. And what's more – You can _hear_ what's happening around me?" Sparrow sounded almost despondent. The voice laughed again.

_Always, dear Sparrow. You will never be alone again._ A pause, wherein her heart dropped into her stomach, and Sparrow cringed. How did the ancient evil manage to root out her innermost fears and worries, then vocalize them? _You've been incredibly boring, what with your complaints and bodily weaknesses. I was looking forward to some entertainment._ And at that, she gaped. The Heroine could feel her cheeks burning, but she did not know if they were as red as she felt they should be.

"Entertainment?" She squawked indignantly. "Voyeur! Some mighty demon of old you are – You great pervert! You're as bad as that sea-rat!"

_There is no need for name-calling, sweet Sparrow. _Jack said soothingly, and added almost as an afterthought. _I resent being compared to the thief like that. He and I are no more alike than the sun is to the moon._

"Resent it all you like. Why are you in my head? I already told you I want no part of your—your ultimate power." She frowned, pinching the bridge of her nose. The tinny laugh that echoed in her mind only aggravated her further.

_Of course, dear. That is what you say now, but later? I think you may be inclined to change your mind._ He sounded smug, and very sure of himself. Sparrow felt something like worry begin to squirm in her gut. What if he was right? What if she did fall to temptation? As if he knew exactly where to strike, Jack followed her worried thoughts with an observation. _I know, little wing – What if I _am_ correct, hm? Temptation is rather appealing... After all, what do you owe to the people of the world? In their eyes, you represent just another disposable commodity._

"Wait just a minute – That's hardly _fair_! You can't play with me like that." She coughed, then cleared her throat; Sparrow crossed her arms over her chest, and put on a determined look. "Do you just sit around, picking through my mental monsters for fun? I bet you and your lot are having a great bit of fun at my expense, eh?" She gripped her arms, nails digging into her skin in an attempt to maintain control of herself. She couldn't very well lash out at him physically. "I want to know how deep you are into my thoughts."

_Who said that anything about this was fair? What you want is of no consequence. It is what _I_ want that matters._ Jack was obviously amused. This was more of a reaction than the pirate could get out of the stoic heroine. _And I do not particularly _want_ to give in to that desire of yours._

"Fine." Sparrow grit her teeth, and sucked in a quick breath. "How about this, hm? I _need_ to know how deep you are into my mind. Better? Or should I resort to begging?" The heroine snarled, banging a fist on her desk. She put on a fake accent, mimicking one of Bloodstone's hard working women of the night. "Oh, please, Jack! I kinna live wifout knowin'!"

_Oh, please, Sparrow. I would rather you retain your dignity._ She could have sworn she heard him snort in distaste. Hearing voices in the first place was disturbing, but having them argue and taunt you was another thing all together. What that other thing was, she decided, was incredibly frustrating. _If you truly _need _to know, I propose an even exchange._

"What do you want?" Sparrow snapped irritably. "You're obviously in my mind, and you have access to... Information that I wouldn't share with anyone, even to save my life. What more do you want from me?"

_I want much, much more from you. I want your obedience, but I will not demand that in this bargain._ The demon sounded as if he were smirking. He was truly savoring her frustration, and the reaction he elicited. _I want full access in your mind. There are quite a few locked doors, in here. I could merely break them down, but I would rather the access be given freely. It causes less damage that way. I'm sure that our Master would prefer you serving as an undamaged unit._

"Ha!" Sparrow crowed triumphantly, focused on the first sentence in his current demands, while jabbing a finger into the air and beginning to pace. "You just gave yourself away, demon!" The Heroine cackled, a huge grin of victory on her face. "Now I know how far you've gotten, and I didn't have to give you anything! Full access, _feh_ – What kind of a fool do you take me for?" Sparrow stopped in mid-stride, and stumbled a bit to regain her balance as her mind processed the rest of what he had said. Her face dropped. "Wh-Wha—Wait a minute, what? 'Our Master'? What are you on about, Jack?"

_You thought that you had a direct line to Jack of Blades, himself?_ The voice laughed, but it was without humour and laced with scorn. _No, child, things are not as they seem. Give me full access, or I will explain no more._

"You—You're _not_ Jack?" Sparrow swallowed, frowning. Then who was this voice in her mind? Was she actually going crazy?

_Yes and no, little wing. Agree to my terms, and I will tell you what I can._ Sparrow frowned, once again raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. She sighed deeply, and her shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Fine." She croaked, then cleared her throat before whispering. "You can... You can do what you will with those doors. They'll be open." Sparrow felt as if a hand of ice had reached into her chest, and was squeezing her heart. It felt hard to breathe. She felt helpless, something that, as a Hero, she was unaccustomed to feeling.

_Good girl._ The Jack-but-not said soothingly. Sparrow had shuffled back to her desk to flop into the chair. _Our Master—Well, really only my Master, at this point, but I shall endeavor to make you see things the correct way and accept him, as well – Is the Jack of Blades. I am not him, as I exist only within your mind. _The voice paused, chuckling bemusedly. _However, I am him, as I was created in his image, with his knowledge. I have merely a fraction of the power he possesses._ Sparrow groaned, and leaned forward, her elbows upon the desk. She cupped her head in her hands.

"Great. Just _great_." The Heroine cursed loudly, then bit her lower lip afterward. "So, you're a copy? Living in my head?"

_In a way, though more like a shadow of the original. Think of me as your conscience – New and improved._ Sparrow ground her teeth together, and cursed once more. Jack chided her. _Is that any sort of language for a lady, little wing?_

"Shut up." Sparrow sighed again, cupping her chin in one palm. "So, do you... Do you and he communicate?"

_We can, though I will not explain the circumstances. _The voice laughed, before adding. _You merely have to think for me to respond, there is no need to speak aloud. It leaves you with much explaining to do to comfort those around you. _A pause, and almost as an afterthought, Jack spoke. _ Little Sparrow, you should deal with the Thief in the doorway – I am going to peruse your memories, now._

"Wai—What?" Sparrow's head snapped around to look at the doorway. Reaver stood, leaning against the doorway, picturesque in the way he held his arms crossed over his bare chest, a a smirk on his face, the humour in which did not reach his eyes; his ochre towel was draped across his shoulders, his damp hair falling half into his face, too wet to be styled in its usual coif. One hand dangled her shaded glasses absently. Sparrow stood so quickly, the chair fell over backwards.

"How long have you been standing there?" She snarled, fixing the pirate with a glare. The Heroine flew into a defensive stand, as if she were expecting the man to attack her.

"Long enough, to know that the situation is not as you explained." Reaver sighed, and absently ran a hand through his wet hair. "I believe that you've got some explaining to do." The pirate began his approach slowly, taking measured steps toward the woman.

"My dear, I pride myself on being able to lie, cheat, trick, or kill my way out of any spot, no matter what." Sparrow remained motionless as he approached. "I can see now that you were less than truthful when you explained your 'condition' to me, earlier. I am, by no means, an idiot. I would appreciate it if you would both explain what it is that's _really_ happening with this… Court business." He came to a halt a pace away from the woman, and held out her glasses. "I won't sign up for this without knowing all there is to know, this time."

The Heroine slumped, suddenly feeling defeated by being called out on her telling of half-truths by a notorious scoundrel. She dropped her gaze, frowning. He was right, and she knew it.

"Fair enough," Sparrow sighed. "I can hear the Jack of Blades." She muttered, reaching to take her offered glasses.

"What was that? I'm not sure that I heard you correctly, dear." He arched a brow at her as she took her strange glasses. Sparrow cleared her throat, and turned to right her chair. Once she'd put it back in place, she looked up to the pirate.

"I can hear the Jack of Blades." She sighed, before repeating herself. Sparrow frowned, finding Reaver's expression unreadable. "Only—only it's not _the_ Jack of Blades, but a—a—a shard, or a fragment of his being, instead." After sitting down, she propped her elbows atop her knees, and placed her head in her hands. She laughed humorlessly, before adding. "At least that's what he says. Do you think I'm completely daft, now?" She heard Reaver's footfalls move away from her, and looked up to find him grabbing the only remaining armchair in the room. She watched as he moved the chair toward her desk, where she was seated. The noise as it traveled from the carpet onto the hardwood and to its destination almost made her cringe.

The slim man then flopped into the chair, swinging one leg over a chair arm. He mussed at his wet hair with the towel, and looked at Sparrow.

"No. No, I don't believe that you are." He shook his head, and pointed toward her left eye. "This as much proves that you aren't – So, I suppose, in this particular context, that hearing voices isn't so odd." The pirate then frowned, shifting to sit up in the chair. He ran a finger over the patch of hair under his lip thoughtfully, lips set in a grim line.

"Is that all you've been hiding from me?" He arched a brow, green eyes calculating, watching the woman's reactions with scrutiny. Sparrow did not miss a beat, despite the conflict within her mind. Should she tell him the truth, and lose all the cards she still held? Or lie, since she didn't really trust him with that sort of life-and-death knowledge? And trust him she did not. Not entirely, not yet. After all, the man had already betrayed her twice before. Why would he hesitate to try for a third time? She couldn't take the chance, not with her sister and the rest of her bloodline depending on it. So, Sparrow picked her best choice at the moment.

"Yes." She met his gaze evenly, and lied outright. He remained aloof, and she wondered if he accepted her answer as truth. The pirate frowned, then heaved a dramatic sigh while sliding back into his lounging position in the chair. He then shook his head slowly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He did not allow it to take hold, and instead shifted the conversation all together.

"I mentioned earlier that we would discuss the terms of you sailing out with me." He looked down, and began to pick at his fingernails, cleaning them as he spoke. "You agreed to anything, any stipulations, did you not?"

"Yes." She responded, grinding her teeth together in aggravation. How foolish she was to throw such offers to a petty thief.

"Good." The pirate cleared his throat, and met the mismatched eyes of the woman sitting opposite from him. "Then, my terms are these: You'll do whatever I say, whenever I say." He held up a hand for silence as he saw Sparrow's eyebrows immediately draw together. "Of course, I have my own standards of decency, believe it or not, and I'll not make your time spent on my ship too degrading. So don't worry your pretty head over lecherous old me demanding any sort of lewd act on your part..." Reaver waved his hand dismissively, watching Sparrow's features relax. "I'm simply not into that sort of thing, luv."

"Alright," Sparrow said slowly, but was cut off before she could ask any questions. Reaver tut-tutted, wagging a finger at the woman.

"I wasn't finished, dear Sparrow. As I was saying before I was distracted... You'll be a sort of personal servant, I suppose, is what I'll be expecting. However," He paused, examining his nails once more. "I reserve the right to modify this arrangement as I see fit, at any time. You'll be notified of any changes, naturally." The Pirate King glanced back to the Heroine, who hadn't moved from her position since he began defining their agreement. "So, will you be joining me after all?"

"Yes." Sparrow said, and quickly added more. "I accept your terms, and... Well, thank you." Reaver dipped his head in acknowledgment of her gratitude. She paused, a thought crossing her mind. "What happens if I refuse any order?"

"The same thing that happens to any crew member that refuses an order," He smirked at her coyly. "Though I'll make an exception for you, and not muss your lovely face. It would be _such_ a shame... So, rather than shooting you, you'll be thrown overboard."

"Oh," Sparrow almost frowned at him, but caught the expression before it manifested. "Erm, thanks again, I guess?" She laughed nervously, then cleared her throat. "How, ehh, generous of you."

"Quite." Reaver sat up, and extended a hand toward the Heroine. "I'll ask one last time – You're in agreement? To everything?"

"Of course. Everything." Sparrow grasped his hand firmly. Her fate now rested in the hands of a man she didn't entirely trust.

* * *

**A/N:** Bullet points. Engarde.

- St. Elmo's Fire! The phenomenon that happened to Rose right before the lightning is actually a real occurrence in nature, though probably not in this context. Wiki that.

- Also, I'm geographically challenged when it comes to Albion, even after I downloaded the map. Is it just me, or does it look like Knothole Glade, the Hook Coast, and the Northern Wastes just... Fell off the map, in present-day Albion? Oh well. I'm trying.

- Anyone ever watch Farscape? Because I'm a total _jack_ass, and I found that a plot device used in that show is exactly what I needed to make more sense out of some things in this fic. A reward for the capture of John Crichton... Harvey+John FTW. _

- I really couldn't help this image in my mind as I wrote the truthful confrontation bit–

Reaver: *in a Ricky Ricardo voice* Spaaaa-row! You got some 'splainin to do!

Sparrow: *in a nasal voice* Aww, Reaver!

- Furthermore, this chapter was a huge pain in the rear. I wrote it, was terribly unhappy, and rewrote it a full three separate times. The longest version topped out at close to 20K, but I had to trash it because of immense frustration. Sorry for the delay, I keep revising and re-ordering things. I took a time out between the second and third drafts, and did a lot of character-development sheets and plot outlining. Hopefully, that'll help things in the future... No more re-reading a scene and deciding that I really don't like the way I've written a character. Hooray!

- Piraticaly-Insane is awesome, and saves me from many tricky doubts that I have, not to mention dubious spelling errors. She is totally the best beta ever. :D Thank you so much!

So, what does all this _mean_? Chapters four and five should come much more easily than this one. Again, I apologize that it took so long to get this up. I'll be working to get the next installment out sooner than this chapter. More things happen. Next time – Why isn't Reaver wearing a shirt? Where the heck did William go? What's the deal with Rose and Hammer? And most importantly – Will Sparrow ever punch Reaver for killing Lucien? Answers to these questions, and _more_, with the next chapter! ;P


	4. Blood Ties

Author's Note: Let me tell you what – This story almost died at the 13 page mark on chapter four. Fortunately, I have a wonderful beta (Hooray for Emma!) who checks in on me, not to mention Rogue Rikku, who has become my favorite person for inspiring me to hop back on the figurative horse. Thank you, hon. 3

A warning, now, that this is not a fun and happy chapter. There is some gore. Things, as far as the plot progression, will begin to pick up from here on out. I have some... Surprises up my sleeve. ;P This chapter was heavily inspired by Bloc Party song, "Banquet," playing as I was speeding on my way home, heh. One day, I'll put together a mix of what music made me want to write certain things...

* * *

A loud, happy bark disturbed what could have been a potentially uncomfortable silence between the Heroine and the Pirate King. William, who was damp and smelled of sea and sand from his earlier bath, came trotting into the study, tail wagging furiously. He went immediately to his lady, and lapped at her hands as she went to scratch behind his ears. The dog regarded the man sitting across from his woman mildly, observing that he'd managed to get the dye, for the most part, off of his skin. He then woof-whined, and with a yip, turned to pad back the way he had just entered. Another loud bark sounded from the animal, and Sparrow stood to peer through the doorway. William had brought visitors with him.

Reaver picked up on this fact from watching Sparrow's face. His back was to the door, so he would have no real idea as to the identity of the person (or persons) who had come calling. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping to push it into something that resembled a stylish do. If these were callers for him, he would be rather embarrassed to be caught not looking his best.

"Hullo?" A familiar voice called into the house, as footfalls brought the individuals closer. "Is anyone home?" Reaver grimaced, and nearly groaned aloud; these were not visitors for him. Before she knew it, Sparrow was confronted with two faces that she hadn't seen in years. The tall Monk ducked her head to avoid bashing it on the doorway as she entered, but a shorter, slimmer woman followed her without such difficulty.

Two things happened, then. Hammer's face lit up at the sight of her old friend, while Rose's face mirrored Sparrow's own expression very closely – _But there__'__s something else there. _Sparrow thought, reading another, poorly hidden emotion in her sister's eyes. _She__'__s… Scared. Of what? _ A hot, burning sensation had pricked at her eyes; Sparrow recalled vaguely that the feeling accompanied crying, but she hadn't shed a tear in many, many years. Crying was something that she stopped doing altogether shortly after she had started her training under Theresa. Grief was a companion nearly as constant as William in those days, but she'd ignored sadness in favour of anger that served as fuel for her quest for revenge. The strange feeling at her eyes recognized and named, Sparrow rushed forward to catch her stunned sister in a tight embrace. Hammer beamed at the reunited siblings, the realization dawning on her that this was the first time Sparrow had seen her sister since making her wish at the Tattered Spire.

The look of pure shock on Sparrow's face, and the subsequent tears were enough to pique his curiosity. From what he knew of her, this woman did not cry. The fact that she was rushing into the arms of an unknown person – The Mage, Garth, perhaps? Was he an old flame? That was the only other person he could think of that Sparrow would be glad to see, and the only other person he had ever seen Sister Hannah with, aside from Theresa – Made him feel strangely uncomfortable. So he stood, deciding to see for himself what exactly was going on behind him. The sight of Sparrow rushing to hug a smaller woman, whose features he couldn't make out at the moment, gave him some sense of relief.

"Oh, Rosey, I _missed_ you!" Sparrow choked, her voice cracking as she held onto her older sister. The shorter woman hugged her younger sister back, holding her tightly and sobbing into her shoulder.

"I-I'm here now, little Sparrow, and I won't leave you again!" Rose cried out of joy; Sparrow out of relief. Finally she knew that Rose had been returned unharmed, no lasting damage done to her. Hammer sniffled, feeling overwhelmed with happiness for the two siblings. The Hero of Strength then swept the two entwined sisters off their feet in a great hug.

"Aww! You two, m'so happy for you!" She beamed at them, tears shining in her eyes as she placed them both on the ground once again. The sisters separated, each wiping at their faces as they laughed together. _Together. Like it__'__s supposed to be._ Sparrow smiled happily at Rose, and then turned to Hammer.

"And it's good to see you too, you great oak, you!" Sparrow grinned at her old friend, glad to have another brother—or sister, in this case—in arms back in Albion. She placed one hand on Rose's shoulder and squeezed, the other reaching up to do the same on Hammer's elevated shoulder. "What brings you two here? Are you tired? Can I get you anything?" The taller sister buzzed animatedly, a stark contrast to her usual calm demeanour.

"Dear Sparrow," Reaver cleared his throat in an attempt to catch her attention. He smiled charmingly at the newest arrival, then looked to the taller women. Hammer scowled moodily at the pirate. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, there?"

"Oh! Erm, yes, well..." Sparrow's smile faltered for a moment, as she looked from Reaver to Rose and back again. Murder was the word that sprang to mind immediately, and she thought that she could hear the quietest chuckle from somewhere far away; Sparrow would kill him if he made a move on her sister. She cleared her throat, throwing an arm protectively around Rose's shoulders, and grinned once more. "This is my sister, Rose. Rose, that's Reaver."

Rose felt a bit uncomfortable under the pirate's gaze. In her sheltered second life, Rose had never encountered a man like this. Hammer had told her stories on their journey – Rose could hear exactly what Hammer had said in her mind (and it was quite a colorful description, indeed: _He__'__s a no-good, slimy, selfish, womanizing, alcoholic, murdering piece of human filth!_) on the topic of Reaver – and she had always spoken of Reaver with such distaste that Rose had pictured him as an ugly, twisted man in her mind. Reality was shocking, to say the least; she shifted closer to her sister, cheeks turning a light pink. This was not lost on the Pirate King.

"Ah, that explains the resemblance, then." Reaver approached the sisters, a smirk plastered across his face. He extended a hand, aware of the fact that Sparrow's smile did not reach her eyes in this moment, as an intensely scrutinizing coldness had come over her. Rose reached to take his hand and shake it. The thief smiled down at the shorter sister. "Charmed to meet you, dear."

"Nice to meet you, as well." Rose smiled sheepishly in return. Reaver took note that Sparrow had visibly relaxed after the introductions were out of the way. The pirate looked past the sisters, to the taller Hero of Strength standing behind them, and inclined his head to acknowledge her as well. The warrior monk wore a veiled expression of dislike, but tried to force a smile onto her face.

"Sister Hannah, I can't say that I'm displeased to see you again." He ran a hand through his hair absently, then turned to walk back to the desk. He seemed to add as an afterthought, "Though I cannot say that it pleases me, either."

"For once, I agree with you, Reaver." Hammer scowled at the man's back, snorting at his attitude. It wasn't as if she had come all this way to see him, after all.

"What brings you two back to Albion?" Sparrow chirped, beaming at her sister who was looking curiously at her face. "I'm quite happy that you've returned, but strange things have been happening, so I don't think that your arrival was entirely by chance."

"Well, Sparrow, we've had quite a journey to get to you." Hammer started, then looked over to Rose, who was busy wiping her face with the back of a hand. The young woman was peering curiously at her sister's face, apparently oblivious to the cue Hammer had provided to begin explaining the purpose behind their journey. In the ensuing silence, Hammer spoke again, this time in a low voice, her expression grave.

"Rose told me that there's a new threat to Albion. Perhaps new isn't the word, since they are quite old, but…" The large woman frowned, peering down at Sparrow. "Say, what happened to your eye? That's definitely a change since the last time I saw you. Some Will work gone wrong? I always told you, Sparrow, careful with that!"

Sparrow cleared her throat, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in an uncomfortable move.

"Yeah," Rose reached up to brush her fingers hesitantly across her sister's left cheek. "Sparrow, who did this to you?" Sparrow cleared her throat, glancing from her sister to her friend and back awkwardly.

"Err, well... I had a vision a while back." She frowned, then settled on studying a point on the wall behind them intently. "The Jack of Blades gave me a rough time. Norman threw some water on me, and when I came to, I had a souvenir." Her recollection of the events had been vague. After she had finished speaking, she met her sister's gaze evenly. "The Court is back. Trying to dominate all of mankind again, no doubt."

"I know." Rose replied, a hand going to her forehead. "That's why we were sent here." She glanced at Hammer. "Well, why I was sent to meet Hammer, anyway. She helped me get here." The dark haired sister offered a weak smile along with a shrug. Reaver groaned and turned to face the women.

"As thrilling as that news is, I'm afraid that I can't join you on your mad quest." He put a hand on his hip, running the other through his hair. Sparrow glared at the lean man, taking long strides toward him.

"That's not what you told me," She poked his chest with her index finger accusingly, eyes narrowing. He merely brushed her hand away.

"Indeed. I agreed to your request before I knew that my wardrobe had been eaten through by moths." He gestured to his naked torso, then cocked a brow. "I'm not gallivanting half-dressed for your entertainment, you know." The pirate scoffed, then turned on his heel and began pacing. "As _entertaining_ as it's been, dear Sparrow, I do believe that you owe me a large amount of new clothing. Hadn't you heard that cedar keeps insects away? You're supposed to place a few blocks with your things when storing them." He threw a glance over his shoulder, noting that Sparrow's expression had softened somewhat. Past her, Rose was gaping at the exchange and Hammer looked disapproving, arms folded over her chest. Green eyes flicked back to the Heroine closest to him as he ceased his pacing to stand in front of her once more. "So? What are you going to do to fix this, hm?"

"Go shopping, I suppose." She glanced to Hammer, then gave her sister a once over, before her eyes came to rest on William's ragged collar. "I'll pick up the tab." Sparrow met Reaver's smug gaze evenly. "We'll have to go to Bowerstone to acquire the quality materials that you'll no doubt want, correct? While we're there, I may as well stock up on supplies for this upcoming sojourn, and make sure everyone is properly outfitted. Besides, William could use a new collar, and I'm sure Hammer and Rose wouldn't object to a bit of shopping..." She had a devious twinkle in her eye as she finished, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. Reaver's look of self-assurance slowly faded; he could tell that there would be something about this trip he wouldn't enjoy.

The rest of the day proceeded rather uneventfully. Sparrow set out to the local tailor, and purchased a shirt for Reaver that would have to do until they travelled to Bowerstone. As evening fell, Hammer suggested food, and the local pub was the destination of choice; oddly enough, both Reaver and Hammer agreed on the bar. After much eating, drinking, and belligerent singing, sleeping arrangements were determined. Sparrow gave her room to Rose and Hammer, and opted to sleep in the study. Her strange insomnia would only get in the way if she were to share a room with anyone, she proclaimed, and her sister and Hammer graciously accepted.

* * *

Reaver awoke with a start and a shout, jerking upright in bed and flailing momentarily, battling with the blankets wrapped about him before ceasing all movement. He pushed damp hair from his face, panting. Visions of Shadows and tortured souls fled as his consciousness returned, but the troubled feeling remained. The lean man swung his feet over the edge of the bed and sat hunched over, catching his breath. The dream was different than the usual recurring nightmare that he had from time to time, but retained a similar quality of unchecked terror and complete helplessness.

He rubbed his eyes, then rested his chin in one palm, elbow propped upon a knee, looking quite the picture of thoughtfulness.

Lines of worry creased his brow, as he tried to piece together vague images that had travelled with him into the world of waking through the fog of sleep. Shrieks of pain, death, and someone laughing about it all – Fire and flame, and the taste of ash in his mouth – But it was all jumbled, and he couldn't make sense of it. A shadowy figure in yellow stood out in the hazy dream, but he couldn't distinguish more than blazing eyes and a high, shrill voice that seemed to be mocking him. It left him feeling uneasy, not to mention covered in a cold sweat.

The thief stood, scratching his bare chest, and padded towards the door. It was time for a drink, and perhaps another diary entry. That always helped to clear his mind, allowing him to fall back asleep.

A noise on the stairs caught her attention, and Sparrow looked over her shoulder to the darkened doorway. At the moment, she was leaning back on William, who was curled in a semicircle around her back, snoring every so often. The pair sat before the fire, which burned low, casting a soft orange glow around the room. Sparrow had been reading, the dim light no longer an obstacle to her sight after her left eye had changed. She closed the old book, and set it aside softly, opting to peer intently at the doorway while waiting for whoever was up and about to appear.

It was late, time ticking into the early morning hours, and she had no guesses as to who would be up – A house full of people expanded her options. The pirate entered the study, oblivious to the woman sitting before the fireplace, and headed straight to the cupboard where the glasses were kept. After retrieving a goblet, his back to Sparrow, he moved to the liquor cabinet and began uncorking various bottles, pouring a little of this and a splash of that into the cup before returning them to their original places. Sparrow watched all this, her fiery eye glowing faintly in the half-light. As he was reaching for another bottle of liquid, she chose to speak up.

"All right, Reaver?" She inquired softly. The resulting thud of a bottle hitting the hardwood was her answer. The Heroine grimaced, thankful that the bottle hadn't shattered on the floor, but startled by the odd reaction. William flicked an ear and growled low in his chest, but did not stir more than that. The lean man knelt to pick up the bottle, then half turned to glare at Sparrow.

"Don't _do_ that!" He hissed, huffing moodily as he uncorked the bottle and topped off the liquid in his goblet. "Skulking in the dark like that, waiting to startle the unsuspecting..." He trailed off, muttering under his breath as he replaced the final bottle, picked up his cup, and took a swig. The thief pulled a face, then walked toward the woman sitting on the floor. "What are you doing down here?"

"Well, I hope to be sleeping, soon." She arched a brow at him, then looked over at the makeshift bed that she had made for herself. "Care to sit?" A shadow lingered over his features that had nothing to do with the half light they were bathed in, and Sparrow picked up on it. He looked at her, expression guarded, then nodded his assent to her request. Reaver, of course, went for the pile of blankets that she had laid out on the floor, and settled cross-legged, facing Sparrow.

The smouldering logs shifted and broke, sending a shower of sparks upward. Sparrow breathed in the silence, observing the way that the slender man pursed his lips as he watched the embers settle. The faint lines between his brows subtly showed his worry. He took another drink from his cup, this one longer.

"Can't sleep?" She chirped, arching a brow as he set his goblet to the side and pulled a blanket around his bare shoulders. He looked away from the fireplace, meeting her gaze evenly.

"No. I make it a habit to wake up in the middle of the night and drink." Reaver replied, then waved a hand dismissively, abruptly changing the subject. "Why are you sleeping down here? You're more than welcome to share my bed, luv. I've got plenty of room, and I'm sure it would be much more comfortable than the floor."

"Reaver, I wouldn't call sexual harassment comfortable." She rolled her eyes, a faint smirk playing across her face. "I let Hammer and Rose have my room. They're guests, after all."

"Hmph." He sipped at his drink, looking once more into the embers. The pirate didn't have the energy for a jab at the warrior monk at the moment. An involuntary shudder ran down his spine as the logs shifted, sending up a bright spray of sparks. He could have sworn that he heard someone far away screaming. Sparrow caught this, her eyes flicking from the pirate to the fireplace and back again.

"Nightmares again?" She asked softly. Sparrow was taken aback at the vehemence in his eyes when his attention shot back to her.

"What would you know about that?" He snapped, lip curling in disdain.

"I found pages you'd written after I bought this house." She replied, looking away from the intensity in his glare, one hand going to pet the sleeping William. "I didn't read them for a while, you know. After I found them, I put them aside. It felt wrong, to invade your privacy like that. But I found them again, later, and curiosity won out over self control..." Sparrow trailed off, biting her lower lip. Her hair fell from behind her ears to partially obscure her face. "I don't think badly of you for it."

"I don't care what you think of me." He quipped, sounding more assured of that fact than he actually felt. She knew his secret, and it made him uncomfortable to think that anyone knew that what was left of his conscience sent ghastly nightmares to plague him. "I don't need your pity. And I don't --" He pointed a finger at her, glowering. "I do not feel _guilty_ about... about what happened." Reaver scoffed, barking a mocking laugh.

"That's fine." Sparrow replied, peering up at him through her hair. "I never said that you did."

"Yes you _did_!" He snarled, eyes narrowing to become slits. "I have no such scruples about privacy--"

"I noticed." She pushed her hair away from her face, meeting his glare face-on with an impassive look.

"--And I read what you thought of me after reading things I _carelessly_ left laying about." The pirate ignored her interruption, and continued raving in a low voice. "I neither want nor need your pity, and if you breathe so much as a hint that I, _Reaver_, have nightmares because I feel _guilty_, I _will_ put a bullet in your pretty head."

"Alright, you don't feel guilty." She inclined her head to him, lowering her gaze. "I understand, and I'm sorry that I leapt to that conclusion." Sparrow was nonplussed by his threat of violence. William shifted slightly, possibly reacting to the tone of the discussion around him, feet twitching as he raced in a dream of his own; the dog growled softly before whining and falling still with a deep sigh. Sparrow leaned forward, reaching to rest a hand atop the slender man's knee. "But you do have nightmares. Everyone does. So tell me, Reaver, what did you dream tonight?"

"I don't know." He sighed, seeming to deflate as she touched him. The Pirate King rested his goblet against his lips, holding it between two hands and gazing into its contents.

"You don't know, or you don't want to say?" Sparrow squeezed his knee reassuringly, offering a hesitant smile. He avoided making eye contact with her, sipping his drink once again before lowering the cup.

"Neither..." Reaver muttered, scooting closer to the Heroine without looking once her way. "... Both." He added with a frown. She shifted away from her canine pillow to meet him halfway in his advance. However, the pirate stopped short, leaving a gap between their shoulders as they sat side by side.

"That's fine." Sparrow said gently, watching his profile. A thought occurred to her, and a frown tugged at the corners of her lips. "If... If you see a cloaked figure, please tell me, alright?" Reaver's head snapped around, green eyes darting across her features, seemingly searching for something. She continued, half mumbling her rushed words. "It could be _him_ again, and... Well, I was thinking while I was reading that maybe, since... You have an _arrangement_ with the Shadow Court, that maybe they were related, and you might be... More, ah, receptive to being contacted." Her fire and ice gaze was intent on his face, watching for any sign of a reaction. That her request had gained his full attention was an affirmative in itself. He swallowed hard, looking troubled.

"You'll ask it to burn, again." The thief whispered so softly he was barely audible, squinting at Sparrow's face. Reaver had paled, as pieces of his dream came into focus; the woman with the mismatched eyes before him had jogged his memory.

"What?" She squinted at him, brows coming together in concern.

"It's what he said to me. The man in the cloak. He had eyes like—like _yours_, Sparrow, like your strange eye." He frowned again, taking a long swig from his cup. "He was _mocking_ me." The pirate growled, a look of annoyance crossing his features.

"Was he in red?" Sparrow hissed, gripping his shoulder and leaning in closer. Reaver shook his head slowly, his lips a thin line.

"No. Yellow, not red." Despite the apparent seriousness of their discussion, and the possible implications his fragmented dream could have, Reaver couldn't help but fight a smirk from his face. Sparrow, usually jumpy when he made physical contact with her, was awfully close to him. In fact, he could feel her breath ghosting across his face. She appeared to be too absorbed in processing this new information to truly realize how close they were.

"Yellow?" She murmured, brows drawn in confusion. He liked that look on her, he decided then; Reaver licked his lips and was about to grab her by the chin and move in for the figurative kill when Sparrow seemed to remember herself. Her eyes went wide, and she sat back, releasing his shoulder. She colored slightly, looking down to her lap; the next moment she blanched as a chuckle buzzed close to her ear, and she raised a hand to shoo away the noise she knew to be in her head. Sparrow heaved a great sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Mocking. That sounds about right."

"Oh?" Reaver arched a brow in question. Sparrow shrugged noncommittally, then had to stifle a yawn with her hand. The lean man was torn between disappointment at her lack of an answer and amusement at the way she had yawned. Ever a man who enjoyed life's pleasures, Reaver threw back the rest of his drink and settled for feeling amused. He reached out to loop an arm around her shoulders, and tugged her close to him. Sparrow snorted softly, and allowed herself to be moved; she rested her weight against the pirate cautiously, and was without a reaction when he pushed her head onto his shoulder.

"You should come to bed with me." He murmured into her hair, tugging the fabric of her sleep shirt up her arm to trace idle patterns on her skin. The pirate shifted so that he could pull her even closer. "It would be much easier to sleep, if you did."

"For you, or for me?" She chuckled, wondering where exactly this was headed.

"Both, dear heart." Reaver kissed her, soft and chaste, on the crown of her head. "You wouldn't have to sleep on the hardwood, with only a rug, a few blankets, and a dog to keep you warm..." The soft clink of metal on wood alerted her to the fact that he'd put his goblet down. Shortly thereafter, Sparrow was surprised to find the thief running his fingers through her hair. It did feel quite nice, and she found herself relaxing into him, eyes fluttering shut as he ran his nails lightly across her scalp from time to time. The combination of his voice rumbling as he spoke and the scratching was very relaxing. "The bed is softer than the floor, I'm sure of that. Nobody will disturb your slumber. _I_ could keep you warm. And you could..." Reaver faded into silence, a trace of anxiety creasing his brow. He was thankful that Sparrow wasn't looking at him.

"If I say yes, will you agree to three conditions?" Sparrow said with great effort. This just wasn't fair – He was very persuasive, with his attention to her scalp.

Sparrow assumed (and thought herself correct, due to his silence on the issue of why it would be good for both of them) that he was still shaken by the nightmare, and wanted someone to be there to remind him of where he was, just in case he had another. She struggled to open her eyes and, albeit regrettably, pull herself away from the lean man just enough to look him in the face. There was a trace of smugness there, but he appeared mostly intrigued.

"Three conditions? Let's hear it, luv." He smirked at her, pushing hair behind her ears.

"Will has to come. He'll sleep on the rug, don't worry." Sparrow half-smiled and continued. "And while we can sleep together in the same bed, I'd prefer to not _sleep together_, alright?" He looked hurt, and rather dramatically threw a hand over his heart.

"Why, I would never think of such a thing!" Just as quickly, his hurt expression vanished and a roguish look stole across his features then. "I do enjoy a challenge, so I'll agree to that." The Heroine blinked, unsure of what to make of his statement. He simply winked at her confusion. "And that last condition of yours?"

"Oh! Ehm, well... It's not so much a condition as it is a request, really." She shook her head, smirking. It was silly, her last demand. He arched a brow, full of concern and seriousness, and gestured for her to continue. "... I'd really like it if you would keep scratching my head. If that's alright."

"That's all?" Reaver said seriously, then a grin cracked his solemn facade. "Well, come on, then." He stood, the blanket that had been around his shoulders clutched in one hand and his other hand extended toward a surprised looking Sparrow. She blinked, then took his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet. Sparrow clicked her tongue, and William seemed to snap out of a dream and into half-waking enough to grumble at the two humans while narrowing sleep-hazed eyes in their direction.

_What? _The dog seemed to ask, before being overtaken by a huge yawn, his teeth chattering as it ended. Sparrow reached down to scratch behind his head, smiling softly.

"Come on, Will. Reaver's been nice enough to let us sleep in his room." At that statement, the dog seemed to look incredulously at the pirate.

_Yeah, you watch yourself. _ William grumbled again, eyeing Reaver intensely, then shook himself as he stood. The dog stretched, then padded over to bump forcibly by Reaver and lead the way to the bedroom. In return, the lean man merely arched a brow at the dog's back, then looked back toward the Fourth. He shrugged, and offered his arm with a charming grin.

"Shall we, then?" He questioned, and she nodded. Sparrow yawned once more as she took the Pirate King's proffered arm. They walked leisurely upstairs to bed.

The pair slept without incident for the rest of the night, and straight through to noon the next day. Sparrow woke to find herself sprawled across Reaver's chest, sandwiched between the thief and her dog. After reorienting herself, she slipped quietly from bed and tip-toed away, leaving the males in the house snoring side by side.

The confused and bewildered looks that met her downstairs were priceless.

* * *

At Hammer's insistence, they travelled to Oakfield a week after she and Rose had arrived in Bloodstone. It was on the way to Bowerstone, and it wouldn't bee too much trouble to stop over there. The trip there was uneventful, as the weather was good and there was wind to catch in the sails and propel the boat onward. There were a few white clouds in the sky, benevolent observers to the party of four who were unaware of what they were to encounter ahead.

Rumours had filtered into Bloodstone, as it was a port city similar to the town of Oakfield, of some horrible tragedy that had befallen the idyllic farming town. The monk had settled into a comfortable routine, sitting at the bar for a good three hours each evening, sometimes chatting with the locals, sometimes dragging a reluctant Sparrow and a curious Rose along, and sometimes only accompanied by Bloodstone's own home grown celebrity, himself. It was during the course of one of these evenings that the worrisome and vague rumours had reached her ears.

Reaver had consented willingly to sail, remarking that if it would make the warrior monk less obnoxious that he would make a stop by the small port. After all, it was only a brief stop, and it was on the way to Bowerstone, where he would pick up his new wardrobe, commissioned in earlier weeks to replace the moth-eaten rags that were once very fine articles of clothing. He was tired of wearing peasant clothing; blending into the crowd of thugs and cut-throats that inhabited his home port was something he hated.

Rose had been enjoying herself, sitting in the bow of the ship with William by her side, singing silly songs to the dog from time to time. The occasional sea spray helped, along with the breeze, to keep the sun from being too overbearing. Hammer had been meditating, attempting to calm her worries, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible had happened. The news that she had heard had been anything but specific, however she was sure that the tales of a new ghost town were nothing more than gross over exaggeration on the parts of the storytellers.

As they arrived at the dock, Sparrow found it increasingly more difficult to breathe. She had remained tucked in the shade during their boat ride, helping to haul sails into position and secure ropes when needed, but otherwise silent and brooding. The Heroine had been attempting, unsuccessfully, to goad the Jack-Shade in her mind into conversation. Upon stepping onto the worn wooden planks of the pier, a pressure that she hadn't experienced in weeks stabbed at her once more from behind her left eye.

"Something smells _aw_ful, here." Rose commented, placing her hand under her nose. William whined softly, padding close to the taller of the sisters. Sparrow reached a hand down to pat him reassuringly, then looked to Hammer worriedly. The large woman's face was pulled tight in an expression of concern. Reaver barked a few instructions to the small crew on the boat, and leapt down after the women, a look of disgust immediately appearing on his face.

"I agree wholeheartedly," He mumbled, placing his hand on his pistol. The pirate knew the scent, but said nothing. A sickly-sweet aroma permeated the air, and not even the salty breeze off the ocean could displace it.

"It's too quiet." Hammer frowned, looking to Sparrow. "Listen – There aren't even any birds singing," Hammer strode forward, with Sparrow following close behind. The Fourth Hero made a quick motion with one hand and clicked her tongue, the other hand reaching for the Daichi slung across her back. William understood the gesture, and dropped back to keep pace with the newest, most inexperienced member of the group. Reaver strode along behind the women, bringing up the rear of the group – And getting a decent view of all rears in the vicinity at the same time. His thoughts drifted, despite the overwhelming scent of decay, and he found himself wondering just how drunk he would have to get Sparrow and Rose to lure them into bed simultaneously. A gasp from the darker-haired sister broke his reverie.

"By Avo, what did that?" She had covered her mouth with one hand, pointing at what was once a person that hung from one of the majestic oaks. The corpse was less a full body and more a torso that was quickly progressing to the skeletal stage of decomposition. Sparrow was using the opportunity given by the brief pause in walking to press the heel of her free hand into her left eye; the pirate noticed this, as well as the fact that she had grown paler since they started walking.

"I dunno, Rose, but I have a feeling we'll find out soon..." The monk held her hammer at the ready, pausing only briefly before continuing onward. The trip to the middle of town progressed similarly, though without much conversation; every thirty paces or so, another body—or simply pieces of bodies—were hung like ghastly ornaments from the very trees after which the town was named. Heads sat atop fence posts that lined the road, staring vacantly at the troupe as they passed with the empty-eyed gaze of one to whom the crows had already attended. At a cross road, they spied the charred husks of a group of farm houses, but chose not to investigate further. Hammer was intent on her destination, the Temple of Light.

_Little wing, you are not going to be pleased if you continue onward._ Jack's shade warned, and Sparrow thought as if he almost sounded genuinely concerned.

_"__What do you mean?"_ She shot back, adjusting her grip on the Daichi.

_Ignorance is bliss. _He stated, pulling her focus inward so that her feet moved ahead on autopilot. She slowed her pace and drifted to the back of the group. _And I think you will prefer it._

_"__Knowledge is power, and wisdom is worth far more than gold, Jack. Speak your mind or hold your tongue. I have no time for idle chit-chat._" She snarled, snatching the front of his crimson cloak in her mind's eye and shaking him. The being who existed in her mind merely swept tousled hair away from her face, and caressed her cheek with a cold metal-clad hand.

_You had time for it, earlier. Why is now so different?_ Conflicting emotions seemed to war in the eyes of the shade in her grasp. She squinted, trying to piece together what they could be, attempting to force her own perception into the echo of Jack. If he could read her thoughts, emotions, and memories, why should she not try to return the favor? With this further shift of her focus inward, she tripped over a downed branch, but regained her footing. Though she was preoccupied, her misstep did not go unnoticed by her travelling companions. Her body righted itself and moved forward on instinct.

"_I wanted information, then."_ She released her grip on Jack's shadow, frowning. Her attempt had failed. _"__Now, you're telling me not to look at the answers that are right in front of my face. What are you holding back?"_

_You will not be able to blame me for not attempting to warn you, Sparrow._ With that, Jack's shade forced her attention to return to her situation. Sparrow nearly jumped when she looked up and found Reaver at her side, looking at her with concern.

"Sparrow," He hissed insistently. The first two times he had called her name, she had not responded. "Sparrow, luv, you've got to focus." He matched his pace with hers, leaning toward her and speaking in a low voice. "Don't get distracted by, erm... What others say."

"You—You're right." She shook her head, wiping sweat that had beaded atop her brow with the back of one hand. Reaver was focused forward, an unreadable expression on his face. Sparrow bit her lip, and picked up her pace so that she pulled ahead and walked next to her sister. The pirate watched her walk ahead, and glanced behind them. Nothing had been left alive in this town, he was sure of it. He had seen a town decimated like this before, but the method in Oakvale had been far different than that he'd witnessed here. The Pirate King fought back a shiver, his ears ringing with the screams of another place, in another time. The Shadows that he'd sold Oakvale to had been hungry, eager to collect their end of the bargain. They had not strung people up in trees and tortured them to death; Shadows were ravenous in their desire to devour the light of life, and would not take such care, or put such effort into ensuring that an entire population had been made to suffer horribly before ending their lives.

_No,_ he concluded, _This was done by the hands of men._

It seemed to Sparrow that time had been moving in jerks and starts since they arrived, slowing to a crawl at moments, only to resume at double the pace it had gone before. She shaded her eyes, and glanced upward to note the position of the sun in the sky – No more than an hour had passed. They were trekking up the hill quickly now, headed to the Temple of Light at its crest. She could hear Hammer muttering fervent prayers, and frowned after her friend who was walking so fast, she was pulling ahead of the group. Rose had her hand buried in Will's fur for reassurance. The dark haired sister looked over to Sparrow, fear and confusion on display across her face.

"Sparrow, there's nobody left." She said quietly, as if speaking in a normal voice would bring some yet unseen peril down upon them. "The way those people died... Were they pulled apart before or after they were in the trees?"

"There might be survivors in the Temple." Sparrow replied, though her grim tone alerted Rose that it was an unlikely possibility. The taller sister frowned at the morbid curiosity expressed by her less than worldly sibling. "I can't say—"

"While they were strung up." Reaver interjected. He had closed the distance between himself and the siblings who walked side by side, and now walked two paces behind them. Rose started at the statement, not expecting the thief to be walking so closely behind them.

"That's horrible!" Her blue eyes widened in shock, but Rose did not fully comprehend the cruelty that inspired such actions. Sparrow frowned, picking her way across the stepping stones that allowed safe passage across the water flowing down from the Temple. She glanced over he shoulder at Rose, who had stopped at the water's edge, and Reaver, who had passed the inexperienced Heroine and was now standing on a stone halfway between the two siblings. Her sister stared into the water, brows knit together.

"Alright, Rose?" She called, glancing over her shoulder at the quickly diminishing form of Hammer ahead of them on the path. "We should hurry to catch up with Hammer – She'll need help if there's anyone waiting."

"Th-th-there's little hands in the water," Rose said, blinking back tears as she tore her gaze away from what lay beneath the water, lodged between the worn stones. "I don't want to cross. There's nobody there. We're too late, I know it." She had begun to breathe more rapidly, eyes wide in fear. Rose shook her head, putting an index finger into her mouth to begin chewing away at the nail. As Sparrow gaped, grasping for something comforting, anything reassuring to tell her sister, Reaver reacted more swiftly. He stepped back across the stones, until he was standing on the rock closest to the shore and Rose. The pirate extended a hand, and smiled gently.

"Come now, they don't even have arms – They can't grab you, and why should they?" The fear in her eyes did not dissipate, despite the calming tone the pirate used. "I'll help you across, Rose. Take my hand." He inclined his head toward her, and winked.

"Don't let me fall." She whispered, reaching to grasp the offered hand after a moment of hesitation. Sparrow looked on, slack-jawed and somewhat surprised by how gentle and kind Reaver had been. Gentle and kind were certainly not words she associated with the thief on a regular basis – Words like lecher, egotist, or hedonist sprang more readily to mind – but that was how he was acting at the moment. Rose began to speak quietly, her eyes drifting out of focus, as he lead her across the stream. "This happened weeks ago – It was awful, they came from the sea in the night and rounded everyone up, and there was so much screaming, then..." She looked down, shocked to find herself on the other side of the stream.

"Silence." Rose said, then released Reaver's hand. Sparrow frowned, and gripped her sister's shoulders. The pirate moved ahead and away from

"Rosey, you can see it? You can see what happened, here?" She said urgently.

"No, not... Not all of it." Rose swallowed, meeting Sparrow's gaze with a weak smile. "That was the first time. But I'm... I'm alright, now."

"Hurry up!" Hammer called. She had paused further up the path, glancing back at the three who were starting to catch up to her.

* * *

The courtyard was a disaster. Brown stains where blood had pooled and dried covered the ground more fully than the bodies of men, some of whom looked as if they were locked in a failed struggle for life. Rose covered her mouth and nose with a piece of cloth, trying to save her senses from the onslaught of stench. The four humans failed to notice that William, usually first to charge ahead, had stopped at the entrance to the courtyard and would go no further. He simply stood there, shaking, with his tail tucked beneath himself. There was something absolutely wrong with this place, and he would wait right by the entrance, thank you very much.

"Bandits." Reaver declared, pulling the sword that pinned a man to the stone wall of the temple free. The corpse fell, and the pirate side-stepped to avoid being hit by any debris. "They're all thugs here, it seems."

"Why?" The usually talkative warrior monk was staring at the darkened entrance to the Temple itself, a look of dread and knowing on her face. Her hopes were shattered; nobody had survived this. This was a massacre. There was no sense behind it, at least none that was apparent on the surface. "I mean, these guys were th' ones that killed everyone, right?"

"Why kill one another after successfully wiping out the population of a village?" Sparrow felt uneasy, here. There was something more to the story that they had missed. Her fire and ice gaze followed Hammer's, and rested on the empty doorway.

"They're petty, unorganized criminals." Reaver tossed the sword to the side, and was making his way to the pool of water that fed the stream they had crossed. It landed with a loud clang and clattered noisily to a halt; the resulting commotion made Rose jump, eyes wide and staring at the pirate. "They..." He had to step back from the pool, shake his head and swallow before continuing. "They must have been from rival gangs, sent here by a third party to do a job. Then they turned on one another – Probably arguing about how to split the loot."

"It's possible," Sparrow muttered, looking away from the doorway to the pirate who stood across the courtyard. He was completely unreadable.

Reaver held himself in check as best as he could after finding a pile of tiny hands in the water. He expected that things were going to get much worse before they could discern any sort of meaning behind the killings – What bandit chopped off the hands of children? There had been no tiny bodies torn to pieces or hanging from trees on their way to the Temple... He looked to the doorway, and deduced that there was yet another grizzly surprise waiting for them just beyond the threshold.

"Let's go in." Hammer said softly. She had yet to take her eyes from the doorway, which loomed like a hungry maw before them. The monks were in there, she suspected, struck down while praying for salvation that never came. They too had been missing from the body count so far.

Since this was her childhood home, Hammer was the first to enter the Temple of Light. As her eyes adjusted, she scanned the round room and found, unsurprisingly, more gore. The monks where there, alright – Pinned to the walls with swords, spears, and multiple daggers. She approached one robe-clad figure, mouth slightly agape.

"This was Brother Karl." She said softly. "He was four years younger'n me, an' his father was great friends with mine." A sad little smile appeared on her face as she spoke. "I used to carry him around like he was a little doll when we were kids, he was so sweet – Would never hurt even a beetle." Tears welling in her eyes, she turned and punched the wall nearby with a shout of frustration. "Who could've done this!?" She roared indignantly.

Rose had been keeping her eyes trained on Hammer, so when the monk finally broke her composure, the smallest woman was by her side in an instant. The dark-haired Heroine reached to touch the large woman's elbow as a gesture of solidarity, of support, but found her touch shrugged off. Reaver, for his part, ignored the women, green eyes drawn upward to the domed ceiling of the Temple. He didn't even flinch, but had anyone been watching him, they would have seen the color drain from his face.

He was a pirate, yes, and a thief, as well – By Skorm's balls, he was a murderer on his bad days and a self-obsessed scoundrel on his best – But never, _never, _in all the darkened recesses of his soul, had he contemplated anything like this. He could orphan a child without a second thought, and he had on numerous occasions, but he didn't kill the little ones, how obnoxious they might be.

Dried husks, recognizable as human by the shape of their bodies, but otherwise looking more like Hollow Men than a recently deceased person, gaped at him from above. _"__No hands,"_ he noted inwardly, scanning the dome. Their skin was drawn and tight, devoid of moisture; their lips had pulled back from their mouths, exposing a deathly grimace. The mystery of Oakfield's missing children and in-betweens had been solved. They had been drained of their blood, rusty brown streaks marking the walls where the life-ensuring fluid had flowed down, tied or nailed to the ceiling in the Temple, arrayed largest to smallest from bottom up.

It was a desecration of the Light; Reaver found himself taking an unconscious step backward, remembering the shrill cries of the few children in Oakvale when the Shadows had come for their payment. The Hero of Skill tore his gaze from the sightless eye-sockets staring back at him, and looked around the Temple. Blood had flowed freely here, he judged by the immense stains on the walls and floor. Sister Hannah was visibly upset, ranting and wailing and swearing vengeance for her fallen brothers, unaware of the grotesque mockery of life and Light above her head; Rose was flitting after her, assuring her that they would find the person responsible for this act, and deliver justice accordingly. Sparrow, however, was silent and still, examining something. Reaver couldn't tell what it was she was looking at, for her body blocked it.

As Hammer went from body to body, shouting and cursing, recalling good times and weeping, Sparrow found herself pulled toward a body that seemed familiar. Distorted features gaped back at her from the miserable corpse laid haphazardly across the altar – Missing hands and eyes, clothing in shreds, the body was a mess. It was the hair that drew her attention, the spun gold that had just begun to darken to an ashen brown that topped this ghoul's head. She swallowed, dread filling her gut. Sparrow knew the answer, but wanted to cling to ignorance as Jack's echo said that she would. After examining the husk that was once a person for another moment, Sparrow screwed her eyes closed and fought the urge to vomit as recognition hit her like an unexpected Balverine. The Fourth could no longer hear Hammer's exclamations, nor her sister's words of calming reassurance.

Pins and needles pricked along her skin, and as she collapsed to her knees before the altar, a strange noise escaped her. It was a choked sound, beastly and high, a strange keening wail that turned into a howl of anguish. They had gotten her, and Sparrow had been unaware. This was her daughter, Danya, taken away by Child Protective Services when her husband left. When she wished her loved ones back to life at the Spire, Sparrow knew that her family had returned... She had never sought them out again, however. Her daughter had grown up since Sparrow had last seen her, and she lamented this as well as her untimely demise. Her only child was dead, blood spilled to fuel the Court, and she had done nothing to prevent it. She hadn't even realized that her daughter would be in danger! Foolish, ignorant, and careless.

"Sparrow?" Rose had stopped in her flight after Hammer. The noise that had just sent chills down her spine had come from her sister, who sat on the floor without grace before a twisted offering. For the second time that day, Reaver was the first to react. He was at Sparrow's side before Rose had taken her first step forward, kneeling down with a hand on her shoulder.

"By Avo, what's wrong?" Hammer pulled herself together momentarily, roughly wiping tears of grief and anger from her face with the back of a hand. "Sparrow, you alright?"

"Obviously not," Shot Reaver, glancing over to the Hero of Strength. She, however, appeared unfazed by the comment. Rose had knelt on the other side of her sister, concern written across her face, but she spared a glare for Reaver after his comment. Sparrow shot a hand up to grab Reaver's wrist in a vice grip.

"Ah'munnabesick." She mumbled before pulling him off balance while scrambling to her feet, and bolting for the square of sunlight. Through the doorway, she stumbled and fell forward on all fours, vomiting promptly onto the already stained dirt before her. It took another few moments – Time seemed too slow, now, like it took an eternity – for her to empty her stomach entirely, and shuffle backwards enough to lean against the Temple wall.

_"__Make this better, anything __–__ Anyone! __–__ Avo, Skorm, I don't care who __–__ Undo this! Bring my baby back!_" Sparrow thought, mind reeling. The Heroine leaned her head back to rest on the Temple wall, eyes shut and seeing only red. She could feel the sun's light on her face, and see it through her eyelids, but it brought her no warmth."_If any God is listening, please __–__ I'll do anything..."_ She brought her hands up to press her palms to her eyes. Red was not the colour she wanted to see at the moment, it reminded her too vividly of the blood spilled. The darkness that her hands brought was welcome; lights exploded when she pressed down too hard on her eyes.

* * *

Inside the Temple, Hammer had resumed her pacing, muttering then shouting, sobs shaking her great shoulders from time to time as she moved from body to body. Reaver looked at Rose intently, his mouth set in a grim line.

"It seems that we've got our hands quite full, eh?" He quipped in a low voice. Rose had straightened up from her kneeling position, and began to chew her nails. The only response that the pirate received was a curt nod.

"As the two left standing, I suppose it's now our--" He pulled a face, disgusted with the word that passed his lips next. "--_Responsibility_ to gather those two up and leave this place." Again, Rose nodded, looking up at last to meet Reaver's gaze. Worry and fear swam in her blue eyes, and the brusque, almost businesslike manner—As if something like his was a commonplace occurrence for him!--that the lean man had adopted did nothing to comfort her. _But then again_, she thought, _I'm not the one who needs comfort right now_.

"Ah-uh!" Hammer jabbed an accusatory finger in the direction of the conspirators. "M'not goin' anywhere! Not until we bury these people – Properly!" She sobbed, but the sound was muffled by her hand. "I'm not going to give these poor souls any more reason to stick around. They've been through enough – The lease we can do is lay 'em to rest like proper people. Or as best we can." She sniffed, and attempted to wipe her face free of tears. Reaver had to literally bite his tongue to keep from spitting out the first thing that came to mind. With enormous self-control, he addressed the bereaved woman.

"Sister Hannah, we'll put them to rest."

And with that simple statement in mind, the giantess returned to her teary mutterings of vengeance and regret that she hadn't been there, at her home, when they needed her most. Reaver clenched his jaw, and turned back to the shorter woman in the room.

"If you didn't know already, I'm telling you now: I've no great love for Sister Hannah. However, we need to leave. The sooner, the better." He ran a hand through his hair, pausing to scratch the back of his neck as he considered how best to word his next statement. So far, so good.

"So," Rose whispered, "What do we do?"

"Get Hannah to calm down. Try and lead her outside, as soon as you can." He frowned thoughtfully. "Tell her what she needs to hear. I'm afraid if I were the one to speak with her, things would go from bad to worse rather quickly."

"What about Sparrow?" Rose chirped, removing her hand from in front of her mouth. She had tasted blood, which meant she'd chewed too much in her anxiety. Instead, she crossed her arms and gripped her elbows tightly. "We don't even know what's wrong with her."

"Don't worry, luv. I'll take care of her." With that and a squeeze of her shoulder (though, in any other situation, it wouldn't have been her shoulder he squeezed), Reaver was striding out the door. That left Rose to care for Hammer.

* * *

_I'm always listening, little wing._ The red-cloaked demon shard purred; it felt as if he had pulled himself free from her subconscious and was a weight pressed against her side, pulling her in close. Sparrow chose to keep her eyes shut rather than look to her left and find her feeling confirmed. It felt as if Jack's Shade was holding her, constricting her ability to breathe. Was that a hand through her hair, or simply the wind? She would not look. _We listen, and we wait. We can give her life again, as we took it away._ His voice was cold water soothing her burns. The things the echo of Jack offered were what she desired, truly – He offered absolution from the choking guilt she felt over her daughter's death.

"Stop," Sparrow croaked weakly, then bit down on her lower lip. Bring Danya back? Perhaps then she could redeem herself as a mother, be there for her daughter rather than leave her at home to save the world. The seeds of temptation were planted.

_If only you had listened to me. I tried to warn you. _The Shade sounded almost sad, it seemed. The pressure by her side dissipated, and she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her chest. Sparrow pushed her palms harder into her eyes, not wanting to look. What if he was standing before her, now? It certainly felt that way, a shadow looming over her, replacing the sun's warmth with cool. In that moment, if the Court had appeared and offered her the ability to bring back what was gone, Sparrow knew what her decision would be. Strong hands gripped her wrists and pried her hands away from her face; she jerked backward, smacking her head against the stone wall behind her, eyes clenched shut.

"N-n-no! Stop!" Sparrow pulled, trying to free herself. However, because she wouldn't open her eyes, she couldn't assess the best way to do that, and so, remained trapped.

"Shh, hush, now – Calm down, luv. It's me, alright?" The Pirate King loosened his grip on her wrists as she stopped struggling. He held both of her hands in one of his, and reached to push damp hair out of her face with the other. Sparrow panted, eyes finally open and darting wildly, searching the thief's face for reassurance. "Breathe, dear heart."

It took another few moments and another bout of retching on Sparrow's part before she had calmed down enough to be considered coherent. Reaver had moved to sit beside her, and had one hand working the muscles on the back of her neck. The Fourth had pulled her knees up and propped her head on them.

"Can you tell me what happened?" He pushed pleadingly, hearing a muffled cry and a loud string of expletives from within the Temple. Not a good sound. "Please, luv – They're worried about you." The pirate cursed inwardly, wishing for once in his life that he wasn't surrounded by women. They were quite difficult to deal with when emotional. Sparrow sighed, shaking her head and looking quite fixedly at a pebble.

"The girl in there – She's mine – The one that's..." She fell silent, and clenched her eyes shut once more, biting her bottom lip. A deep breath, and she spoke again, voice sounding hollow and devoid of emotion. "The body on the altar is—was my daughter."

_Oh,_ Reaver's brows shot up, as he realized the seriousness of the situation. It was his turn to take a deep breath; as he opened his mouth to reply to Sparrow's revelation, she cut him off.

"They can do anything, can't they? They made you immortal." He stared at her profile as she gazed blankly into the space before them. Her eyes looked unfocused, and she was speaking quietly, urgently, in a hushed voice. "Jack says that they can bring her back. I failed her, but I can make it right. I should go to them, then. I should get them to bring her back. Don't you think?" The stare she fixed him with when she asked that question made him intensely uncomfortable. The question she asked made him even more uncomfortable, if that was possible – She was asking him a question of _morality_, something he was notorious for ignoring in favor of his own interests. Perhaps that was why she asked him, of all people. The Pirate King sighed, a frown settling on his face as he shook his head.

"Sparrow... You should take care of your daughter now that you have the chance. If you couldn't be there in life, at least do the right thing by her in death." He did not answer her question directly, since he really didn't have an answer for her. Reaver could not fathom the situation she was in. He never had children for this exact reason – Too much to lose, too much to get attached to, and such a large weak spot that your enemies could exploit. The mask Sparrow wore cracked, and the last threads binding her self-control together frayed and snapped; the Heroine's face contorted in pain, and she clung to the thief, sobbing and shaking into his chest.

Heavy footfalls called his attention to the doorway, where Hammer appeared, looking vacant; her face was splotchy, her nose red, and her eyes swollen. Little Rose clung to the great monk's elbow, patting her and making eye contact with Reaver. She looked harried and pale, and quite concerned for her sister. Her deep blue eyes asked the question loud and clear, and the pirate returned to gently petting Sparrow's hair, waiting for her to stop weeping. It took another few moments before Sparrow collected herself, apparently realizing that her sister and her friend had come outside. Her mismatched eyes sought Rose for comfort, but when she looked up, she saw her sister having a silent conversation with the Pirate King. The Fourth inhaled a deep, ragged breath, and wiped her face with her palms before disentangling herself from the slim man, and standing. Rose's attention snapped to her when she pulled herself up; she had never seen her sister looking so pained, but then again, she reminded herself, she had been dead the first time Sparrow must have looked like this.

"Danya, my daughter... She's among the dead." Sparrow croaked, balling her fists to keep from breaking apart. It was time to do necessary things, not to weep. That could come later. She closed her eyes, trying to force her grief away so that she could think correctly – But it was impossible, the pain in her heart overwhelming. Sparrow grit her teeth and slowly opened her eyes to find Rose with tears in her eyes, gripping her hands tightly.

"Sparrow, we'll get them for what they've done. I won't let them get away with murdering my niece." Rose whispered, harsh and low, a hateful look crossing her face that left Sparrow momentarily confused. The taller sister sighed, looking past Hammer to the darkened doorway.

"We'll burn them. Burial is... Impossible, at this point." Sparrow frowned, pulling away from her sister to walk slowly toward Hammer. The Fourth stopped and leaned gently against Hammer, gripping her hand and squeezing reassuringly. Eyes on the ground, Sparrow kept speaking, declaring what would be done. "Wouldn't want to mix up parts... That'd have 'em back, just as surely as doing nothing would. So it's cremation. There's still several hours of light left, so we should move now."

"I'll get my crew to aid us. They're not particularly gifted, but they can handle this sort of work." Reaver quipped, before turning on heel and moving swiftly back toward his ship. The very unhappy canine who was waiting by the courtyard entrance whined high, and padded off after the pirate. He couldn't stand that place anymore, and the ship seemed like a good option.

Sparrow sighed, and wondered if she really could handle pulling the dried little bodies from the ceiling in the Temple. She wondered if they would just have to burn the building down – It seemed an even worse desecration to do that, somehow. If the building still stood, at least people could return and start anew. The Heroine, with one last reassuring squeeze of Hammer's hand, pulled herself free to crack her knuckles and begin pulling shells of bandits together in the courtyard. Rose grimaced, but followed suit; Hammer appeared far away as she worked, but she was efficient.

* * *

The sun's light had dropped below the horizon by the time they had gathered all the citizens of Oakfield together. The sky was a cacophony of colors, burning gold giving way to intense crimson and gradually the softness of pinks, periwinkles, and eventually a soft, inky navy. The group stood before their own source of light, watching as the flames leapt and danced higher; Rose shivered and pulled her arms tightly around herself, hearing ghostly whispers as the wind carried the funerary smoke through the branches of the oaks. Reaver's men were considering new lines of work, now, deciding that while raiding and pillaging were perfectly acceptable, cleaning up the aftermath was not. The pirate lord stood with his hands on his hips, expression unreadable as he watched bones splinter and crack in the heat of the fire. They had used up most of the rum on board his ship to ensure that the fire would burn hot enough, lacking mass quantities of oil or other accelerants, and he wondered if, as Oakvale burned, the fires had been hot enough to scorch the evidence of his treachery from sight. Hammer was seated, praying quietly with tears streaming down her face; she prayed hard and earnestly, imploring the souls of the murdered to find peace in death.

Sparrow stood apart, unable to see the others from her position on the opposite side of the blaze. She was blank, watching the flames purify the evils that had occurred to these people. Reaching inward, she groped for the demon shard, unsure if she was going to throttle him or beg him to show her the way to the Court.

_Little wing, I will not appear if you are going to be disagreeable._ The voice whispered, but that was enough for her. She was getting better at this game they played, the fact that her mind was the backdrop for it helped; Sparrow grabbed, feeling the presence of another and hauling the shade into full view of her mind.

_"__Don't think you can out run me, here. This is _my_ head that you're in, not the other way around."_ The Heroine paused, releasing the demon shard and taking a few steps back so that she could view him. _"__Why did the Court do this? Why come to Albion to slaughter a village, and disappear into the night again?"_

_Little Sparrow, you should know this already._ The shade began to pace, circling her in the endless grey borderlands that she had conjured for this meeting. _Blood is important. Imperative, even, in this power-play. And your blood, your line is especially valuable._ He stopped behind her, reaching out to place both hands on her shoulders. She turned her head to glare at him with her demon-eye, mouth set in a grim line.

_"__Make your point. I hate these games, Jack."_ The demon laughed jovially, stepping in close to her and draping an arm around her shoulders. He started them walking into the grey expanse.

_Your sister stated the obvious fact: This sacrifice took place weeks ago._ Metal talons began to play across her arm as he pulled her even closer, pausing to look intensely at her. _In forging our... Connection, your blood was necessary. It so happened that we knew of your child. So... And I am dreadfully sorry that things happened this way, dear wing; I tried to keep this pain from you. In my birth, your offspring had to die._

And the strange thing was, he genuinely looked sorry about that fact. Sparrow wondered idly if he felt the pain that she did, or if her emotional state had any sort of effect on him. She felt as if someone had punched the air from her lungs. It did make sense, in some way that was inherently magical, but it didn't make it any easier to swallow. She would not go to the Court; of course they had engineered this horror.

_"__Thank you." _Was all she could whisper before shoving him roughly away from her consciousness. She came back to herself, standing before the fire, and sank slowly to her knees. Returning Danya to life was not an option; revenge, a familiar and comforting feeling, was. Sparrow knew herself, and she was aware of exactly who and what she was. The Fourth could recognize that she was a skilled killer, trained from early on – That was the reason she never did menial jobs, instead preferring to use her skills in stalking and ending lives – To do just one thing. Revenge had been her motivation and constant companion (well, aside from William) during the first part of her life. Rather than being consumed by grief over her sister's death, she had chosen vengeance. Sparrow hoped that it would be so easy to follow that same path, this time.

* * *

Later that night, quite grateful that the milling crowd of aristocrats was nowhere to be found, the Heroes plus two of Reaver's men walked through Fairfax Gardens and into the Castle. The butler greeted the Queen, and after a few quiet words between Sparrow and the man, he began his task of escorting the guests to various rooms.

"Rose, not you." Sparrow grabbed her sister's wrist and the siblings headed off to a different wing of the Castle. The master bedroom had always proved challenging for Sparrow – The entire Castle made her terribly uncomfortable, which was why she'd opted for living in Bloodstone. Sparrow skirted the hallway that lead to Lord Lucien's former study, the place where Rose and her childhood had been murdered. Rose felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up when peering down the hall; fortunately, Sparrow's firm grip on her hand pulled her in a different direction before she could get stuck reliving past horrors.

"I can never sleep, here... I hate this place." Sparrow muttered, shaking her head as she pushed open the door to the master bedroom. "I'd like to burn it down and start over. But why bother?"

"Yeah," Rose breathed, taking in the luxuries of the Castle's best room. This was much better than Bloodstone Manor. The smaller sister stepped quietly, as if afraid to disturb sleeping ghosts. She yelped when she was struck with a bundle of cloth that Sparrow had pulled from a drawer.

"Stay with me, Rosey?" Sparrow chirped quietly, looking very much like the small child that Rose had cared for many years ago. The older sister smiled warmly, tears pricking her eyes.

"Of course, little Sparrow. I wouldn't dream of leaving you alone." Rose smiled, looking over at her sibling.

So, the two slept that night in the master bedroom of the place where their first lives had been ended. It was a long night, full of terrors and cold sweats and demons both old and new. Once, upon sitting upright when waking from a dream where the details were vague but foreboding, Rose could have sworn there was a cloaked figure sitting on the foot of the bed, watching them sleep with burning eyes. Perhaps she was still dreaming; surely William, who was asleep on the ground by Sparrow's side, would have woken had there been anyone there.

_Sleep._ Hissed the hooded man, but that could have been nothing more than the wind outside the windows. Sparrow stirred, mumbling and groaning in her fitful rest. Rose lay back down, brushing hair from her sister's brow then throwing an arm across her middle. She began to hum softly; a song from their youth that had worked in soothing her little sister's nightmares in the past. It worked after a while, and Rose fell back asleep until the next nightmare or Sparrow's panicked cries woke her. The cycle went on until the sun rose, and sleep was no longer something sought after, despite how fatigued they may have felt.

* * *

A/N Two: First, Danya is Hebrew in origin, and I thought long and hard about how weird a Hebrew name would sound in Albion before deciding, with Emma's advice, to go ahead and use it. It means something like "gift from God."

Second, despite how I swore up and down that I'd never panhandle for reviews -- They really help! It's very encouraging to know that people are actually reading this beast, especially since I max out between 9,000-12,000 words per chapter. So, thank you to those of you who have stopped to review after reading. I really appreciate the words of support; they make me want to pick up the pen and finish. :D

And that about does it.


	5. Shadows of the Past

"Your Majesty!" The powdered, bewigged woman bowed, and then twittered as she moved to the side, allowing the group of Heroes to pass. Once again, Reaver rolled his eyes; the obvious contempt with which he looked at the aristocrat would have caused her to gasp and run screaming, were she paying him any mind. Which she wasn't. But she should have been – _He_ was the celebrity, not Sparrow. He looked the part now, as well, thanks to his new wardrobe. She had picked something decidedly demure, simple shades of grays with a slate-colored overcoat; clothing definitely not befitting of any sort of royalty. So she owned the castle, big deal! These oddly-dressed aristocrats flocked to her and hung on her every word; she'd been in and out of meetings with her 'court,' many of which ended in raised voices and Sparrow leaving the audience-chamber silently. It was the same thing everywhere they went in this Avo-forsaken town; Sparrow would be mobbed by admirers, adults and children alike, and she would dole out trinkets and autographs before waving them away. The Pirate King snorted, stretching as they headed into Bowerstone Market.

The first few days that they had been in Bowerstone, it had been difficult for Rose to adjust. It felt like ghosts would leap from the shadows between buildings any minute to haul her away into her past life. They didn't, of course, and she gradually relaxed. Seeing the study where her first life had ended in Castle Fairfax was another story, entirely. What a strange sensation, standing there and recalling the deafening blast of the gunshot, the bullet slamming into her chest, and then feeling her life drain away as her damaged heart fought to keep beating, fluid filling her injured lungs making it difficult to breathe. Hammer had found her there, stuck to the door frame, staring wide-eyed with silent tears streaming down her face as she remembered the events that took place in the luxurious palace. The dark-haired sister shook her head, clearing cobwebs of thought over past events so she could examine the present.

It was late afternoon when Sparrow and Hammer had stopped to wander into a general store; Hammer was intent on taking up pipe-smoking, believing that it would help her from drinking too much if she had something else to do. The Fourth had been treating them all, buying them whatever they desired these past days; it wasn't difficult, she said, since she essentially owned all of Albion. At that, Reaver had pulled a face – Yes, she had told him that before, but he hadn't actually _believed_ it. Now, as the two older women were in the shop, he leaned against the doorjamb, watching Rose play fetch with the mutt. A gaggle of small children soon flocked about her, more intent on meeting the dog than speaking to the Queen's sister. One of the children kicked the red rubber ball (_accidentally_, of course) from in front of the dog, which went rolling into an unfortunate alleyway between buildings. The thief's sharp green eyes followed the progress of the ball, and then the younger Heroine after it, catching tell-tale signs of movement in the shadows. He scowled darkly as Rose stepped out of the light and into the shaded area, right into the clutches of the waiting shadowed figure.

"Why 'ello there, Rose,"

The greasy man had her trapped before she knew quite what hit her, and she suddenly remembered those thoughts of evil memories waiting in the shade, and how easily she'd brushed them away. Arfur leered at her, squeezing her shoulders roughly. "Lemme have a look atchya – You've grown up quite a bit, eh?" The dark-haired sister squirmed, gaping at the now wrinkled man who had once attempted to lure her into an inescapable life of street-walking to feed herself and her kid sister. He had much less hair, significantly fewer teeth, and unsurprisingly, he was missing his two smallest fingers on one hand; he still smelled of ale that had been out for days too long and something fouler still.

"Lemme go, or—or-" She stammered, taken off-guard and thrown completely for a loop by the sudden appearance of her first nemesis. The fact that she had new skills with which to defend herself did not come to her mind immediately.

"Or what, hmm? Gonna get'chyer sister to come an' beat me up?" He guffawed, before dissolving into a wheezing cough. The older criminal recovered, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glared at Rose. She caught the glint of sunlight on metal over Arfur's balding head; the subsequent click of a pistol cocking caused the spiteful old criminal to look over his shoulder.

"Even better – I'll simply shoot you. No beatings involved, and everybody is happy!" Reaver stood in the afternoon sun, a golden-brown halo around his head from the light filtering through his hair, with his Dragonstomper aimed at Arfur's head in the shadows. A stunning smile graced his features as he gestured with his gun. "Now, you failed excuse for a criminal, I'd appreciate if you would stop detaining my friend."

If looks could kill, Rose would have been dead twice over; Arfur fixed her with a vehement expression, one that promised retribution for transgressions imagined and real. Without a word, he backed away from the younger Heroine. Rose exhaled a breath she'd been holding, and scurried back into the light to stand beside the pirate lord. He inclined his head to Rose, his intense and rapidly darkening gaze never leaving the withered man.

"Who is he to you, and does he matter? An old _friend_, perhaps?" The pirate chuckled darkly, becoming the focus of Arfur's glower. Disgust crossed Rose's features at the implication in Reaver's voice.

"No! He's a creep, washed up and looking to finish what he started years ago." She stated, finding her outrage and glaring right back at the ghost from her first life.

"Well..." The pirate started, then pulled the trigger. Arfur's right leg gave way in a spray of blood. He howled, spewing curses, now on the ground clutching his knee. Reaver laughed jovially, the brightness of his smile rivaling that of the sun. Rose jumped back, a horrified expression on her face; while Arfur was an utter worm, she hadn't wanted to hurt him, much less maim him permanently.

"That was a mistake!" The wounded man snarled. "I'll have Nicky the Nickname on yer arse – I'm his top man, I am!" To emphasize his disgust, he spat on Reaver's boots. The Pirate King's good humoured sadism vanished then, replaced by a cruel desire to inflict as much suffering as possible.

"Let me tell you a thing or two, pissant," The thief snarled, stepping into the shadowed alleyway. "Nicholas – Nicky," He scoffed, lip curled in disdain before continuing. "Is a fool with no sense of how to run a criminal empire, if he's got you managing his street business." And with that statement, he shot out Arfur's other knee, rendering him a complete cripple. The withered criminal yowled and spat more curses, now bleeding freely from both legs. "Another thing – _I_ am the one who _started_ your boss, by taking that sneaky whelp on many, _many_ raids and showing him the bare minimum. I sincerely doubt that he would want to wage _open war_ with a crime lord _centuries_ older and more experienced than he, especially over an insignificant rat such as yourself."

"Reaver, just let him be." Rose squeaked, tugging on the pirate's elbow. "Please, let's go and he'll skulk off and never bother anyone again. Right?" She added, looking emphatically at the bloodied man in the alleyway.

"Yeah! O'course! Whatever you say!" Arfur ground out between clenched teeth, glaring hatefully up at the pair. The slim man paused for a moment, then shook the young woman off his arm and advanced on Arfur. Rose back-pedalled from the alley, looking around for her sister, hoping that Sparrow would come and call the pirate away.

"As much as I'd _love_ to believe that, you're simply too pathetic to let live any longer." And with that, he placed a bullet between the aged criminal's eyes. Rose gaped, astonished at the quick and violent end to which her childhood tormentor had come. Reaver, however, holstered his pistol, and ran a hand through his hair before turning to the young Heroine with a smile. "Problem resolved."

"That wasn't a resolution!" Rose stammered, still gaping as the pirate approached her, draped an arm around her shoulders, and began steering her back toward the shop from which Sparrow and Hammer were emerging. "That was _murder_, Reaver!"

"What would your sister say if I'd sat idly by and let you be accosted by some deranged bogeyman from your past?" He chortled, patting her shoulder and stepping away as Sparrow approached.

"What happened here? All right, Rose, Reaver? Where's Will?" Sparrow looked once over the pair, cocking a brow at Reaver's smug expression and Rose's obvious distress. "I thought I head gunfire while inside."

"Your sister-" Reaver began, only to be interrupted by a bounding mass of fur that had come back, quite pleased, from attention and treats from the local children. Will yipped, circling the legs of the group, before seating himself by Rose's feet. "As I was saying, your sister was-"

"_Perfectly fine_!" Rose shouted, shooting daggers at the pirate with her eyes. "It was nothing I couldn't have managed!"

"Explain." Sparrow stated simply, crossing her arms over her chest and looking from the pirate, who had adopted a mien of innocence, and her sister, who looked outraged and hurt. When Rose looked away, color rising to her cheeks, and Reaver simply smiled angelically, Sparrow sighed heavily. "Reaver, what did you do?"

"Me? Why am _I_ always the bad guy, hm?" He scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. Hammer rolled her eyes and snorted, opening her mouth to comment before being silenced by Reaver's upheld hand. "Rose here had gone into the alley, and was being assaulted by some foul-smelling tosser. I merely stepped in when it appeared that she wasn't going to react in a timely fashion."

"Rose? Is this true?" Sparrow chirped, catching her sister's eye. Rose was fuming, her fists clenched at her sides, tears pricking her eyes.

"One of the kids kicked Will's ball into the alley, so I went to get it. Arfur was there, and he jumped me." She pointed an accusatory finger at Reaver. "He _murdered_ Arfur – Toyed with him before, too!"

"Oh, please, Rose," Reaver said, rolling his eyes. "You can hardly call it murder. He wasn't living much of a life, now was he? I merely... Accelerated his process of decay. He did smell quite ripe, already." He smirked, looking to Sparrow who was pinching the bridge of her nose. Hammer glowered at him, none too happy with the taking of life that had just occurred.

"Thank you for watching out for Rose and ridding the world of that bloody git." Sparrow finally said, breaking the silence that had descended on the group. Rose looked astonished by her sister's statement, and as Reaver smiled smugly, Hammer spoke up.

"You can't just go around killing whoever you please, even if they do deserve it." She glared at the pirate. He scoffed, looking offended.

"Then what, pray tell, would you have me do? Pound them senseless, and make them promise to never misbehave again? Or worse – Pfft! – Call the town guard?" Reaver barked a harsh laugh, narrowing his eyes. "As ineffectual as they are, I'd rather take care of things on my own."

"Enough." Sparrow said quietly, stepping toward Rose to place her hands on her sister's shoulders and look her square in the face. "I ran into him years back on a bad day; beat him within an inch of his life, and took half his hand. I told him to clear off, else I wouldn't spare him the next time I saw him." The tall woman nodded to Reaver, before looking back to her sister. "Reaver fulfilled my threat. I'm glad for that."

"You're _glad_ that he was murdered?" Rose spat incredulously, brushing her sister's hands away. "I know he was horrible to us, but Sparrow – He didn't deserve to be killed outright!"

"That's a difference of opinion, luv." Said the pirate with an air of nonchalance.

"You're awful, you know that? Truly despicable." Hammer growled, glaring at the slender man.

"Please, Sister Hannah, tell me how you _truly_ feel." Reaver laughed cheerfully, waving away the monk's insults.

"Rose, please – Let it go. He was scum. Arfur made our lives hell. What, with his constant badgering you to become a whore and trying to bully us into a life of crime – He deserved what he got." She said evenly, a neutral expression on her face. Rose shook her head, frowning back at her sister.

"You're so cold, Sparrow." Tears began to form in her deep blue eyes, a shade darker than Sparrow's icy blue. "You'd never have said those things before – What happened to forgive and forget?" Sparrow moved quickly, crushing her sister in a hug.

"Forgive and forget died when you did." She said low, an intense ferocity behind her words. "I would do _anything_, kill _anyone_ to keep you from harm, Rosey. I've seen this world, and how cruel it can be. Please don't cry, sister." Sparrow hushed her sibling, petting her hair affectionately for a moment before releasing her. The shorter sister still looked unhappy, but sniffed and wiped her eyes dry.

"Alright, I suppose." Rose muttered, resolving to brood for quite some time over a number of different things. For one, this change that had taken place in her sister was unsettling. Sparrow had always been cheerful when they were younger; of course, there was her temper, which usually brought them out on top of any situation. The young Sparrow had felt everything strongly, and allowed her feelings to dictate what she did. Now, it seemed to Rose, that Sparrow didn't feel anything at all. She seemed insulated, and if her kid sister's words were any indication, it was Rose's own death that had caused an abrupt change in the way Sparrow related to the world. The dark haired sister was brought out of her musings by a question asked by the last person she wanted to hear from at that moment.

"Anyone hungry?" Reaver quipped, stretching languidly before flashing a brilliant smile at the women. Somewhere across the street, a townswoman passing by swooned. Hammer made a noise of disgust. Sparrow shrugged, and set off in the direction of the town square ahead of the others.

"Only _you_ would think of eating right after killing. Going to wash the blood from your hands, or does that add to the flavour?" The warrior-monk stepped closer to the most inexperienced of the group, laying a massive hand on Rose's shoulder.

"Sister Hannah, I've come to accept that I can never wash my hands clean enough. I can live with that." He smirked, placing his hands on his hips and walking after Sparrow; the pirate turned to call over his shoulder. "Can you?"

"It's his nature, Rose." The Hero of Strength confided to her diminutive-in-comparison companion. Will lapped at Rose's hand, whining softly. Hammer sighed heavily. "Your sister, though... She's having a rough time, so don't worry too much. All she did when I knew her before was fight to get back at those who had taken everything from her. Sparrow doesn't mean to be cold – It's just her way of keeping herself from hurting, I think."

"But why isn't she mad at him? I see your point – He's horrid, like an apple that looks appealing but is nothing but mealy and rotten when you bite into it. I just don't understand why she took his side..." Rose frowned as they began to walk after the others.

"I can't say why she did, but it worries me. She's always been level-headed, realistic in the way she deals with people – Maybe this last... Her daughter dying has pushed her too far." Hammer shrugged, frowning as she watched Reaver loop an arm around Sparrow's shoulders ahead of them.

"Your sister really must learn that people don't _survive_ by being nicey-nice. I did her a favour, you know – That man was hateful. Not to mention his hateful odour." He leaned in to inhale close to the slender woman, smirking. "Not at all like you, songbird."

"Stop that." Sparrow nudged him with her hip, making him stumble. "I agree with you. However, she's... Naïve. She's been sheltered, in her second life. Rose was murdered, if you recall." She looked over at him, fixing him with an analytical stare; Reaver, for once, felt slightly uncomfortable. He frowned, readjusting his grip by moving his arm to circle Sparrow's back, resting his hand on her hip.

"It's not as if I _expected_ her to react so unreasonably." The lean man steered the mousy-haired Heroine into the tavern. "I merely acted in her best interests. If I'd let that slimy wanker live, who knows when he would have appeared again? With a grudge to bear, no less!" He disengaged himself from Sparrow to saunter to the bar, but was stopped by a hand around his wrist.

"Please... Just, try to be more sensitive to her situation, hm?" Sparrow said softly, and the pirate lord had to lean closer to hear her. "I don't think she's had to kill a person, yet. We've done plenty of that."

"'Sensitive' is really something that I'm not good at, dear." He chortled, reaching up to cup Sparrow's cheek. "Sensual, yes – Sensitive, no."

Surprisingly, Sparrow leaned into his hand, her eyes fluttering closed. Reaver squinted, trying to glean some sort of information about what was happening in her head from her face. He felt an impulse to kiss her, just to get some sort of reaction; Sparrow had been even more emotionless since they left Oakfield. As they sailed from the decimated town, funeral pyre burning low behind them, she had simply shut down. The Heroine released his wrist, her eyes snapping open.

"When we return to Bloodstone, we'll need to wrap up some loose ends." The Fourth pulled away from him, glancing around the establishment before her gaze settled on the door. "I'm not staying for dinner, so behave. Derek, the Captain of the Guard, approached me with a problem earlier. Trade routes need to be reopened, and I need... I need to be alone for a while." Sparrow squeezed the thief's shoulder as she made for the door, and he glowered at her. This time, it was Sparrow who was stopped by a grip around her wrist.

"You're _leaving_? Sparrow, darling – You really should stay and eat something." He smirked and waggled his eyebrows at her. "And I'll buy you a drink – Several drinks! How about it, hm? Stay, have some fun! Relax, dear heart, we've been out all day – Don't leave me alone with the unrealistic expectations duo." And by the end of his speech, he was gripping her arm with both hands. His flirtatious smirk had dissolved into a pleading expression. Sparrow snorted, shaking her head.

"Get sloshed, Reaver. Flirt with some locals. Destroy some marriages. I couldn't care less." She waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head. "Ignore them. I'll be back before too long." And with that, she removed herself from his grip, and stalked out the door. He gaped at her retreating form, before settling into a frown. Get sloshed, indeed! He pouted, thinking about the change that had taken place in the woman over the past week. She wasn't acting right, not at all raising to any of the bait he'd placed before her. Not that he could really blame her, he supposed – She'd had the distinct pleasure of discovering her first-born slain on an altar. That should reasonably change a person's outlook. However, that didn't mean that he had to be glad for the sullen, focused, aloof Sparrow. He'd been enjoying her muted yet present emotive reactions, the small smile she let play across her lips when she didn't want to encourage his behaviour, yet found him amusing at the same time. He would be damned if this business-oriented demeanour continued. Something had to be done.

Outside, Sparrow met Hammer and Rose to explain that she had business to attend before she could sit down with them, and offered the same advice to them as she had the pirate: Ignore the traits that they despised, and try to enjoy their meal. They should get a drink afterward and relax, and she would be back before too long. She told William to wait outside, and then disappeared across the town square to meet with a guard who held a contract. As the sun began to set, the Fourth disappeared from Bowerstone.

* * *

The bandits disrupting trade routes near Bower Lake didn't stand a chance; Sparrow struck like a demon of old from the darkness. With her fiery eye, not even cover offered by shrubbery and fallen limbs could hide them. She could see through the growing darkness, through the solid matter – even the stone ruins – to find them as strange and moving outlines, faintly glowing and changing in colour and shape. Her rifle made quick work of those who tried to flee, and the Daichi ended those brave enough to stand their ground. Once, a group had surrounded her and attempted to subdue the Heroine, but she took a few hits in order to fry them all with the full force of her inferno spell. When the activity finally stopped, she found herself wondering exactly why her arm stung, and what liquid was running down her face. A bullet had grazed her at some point, so that explained her arm – And a careless lapse in attention on her part allowed a bandit to slice her somewhere in her hair. From experience, she knew that face and head wounds bled more freely, so she assumed it was simply a cut. There was nothing she could do at the moment.

With the moon on the horizon, Sparrow set off towards Bowerstone once more. Entering the tavern bloodied and fresh from battle may not have been the smartest move on her part, and she cursed under her breath as Rose gasped. Hammer merely laughed, cheeks red from the ale, her pipe between her teeth.

"Some errands, eh Sparrow?" The monk stood, striding over to clap her on the back. "What'd you do?" The slender woman snorted, reaching up to peel several ashen-brown locks of hair from her sweat-and-blood-covered forehead. Sparrow turned to yell a few requests at the bartender – A bowl of water, a shot of children's health potion, a rag, and a bottle of rum – and caught the curious eye of the pirate as she and the Hero of Strength sat at the round table that Rose was occupying. The small bag she tossed on the table landed with a heavy metallic thud.

"Bandits near Bower Lake. They were making business difficult for trade caravans." She shrugged, knocking back the health potion as soon as a barmaid set it on the table. Pulling a face, she began to wipe down her hands and wash out the wound on her arm.

"So you just... Went out there and got rid of them?" Rose questioned in a small voice.

"Yes. Wouldn't you? Bandits will kill you – Or worse, enslave you and sell you off – If you don't get them first." Sparrow arched a brow at her sister, who dropped her gaze to sip at her wine slowly.

"Just think of 'em like Balverines. Maybe they were people once, but not anymore." Hammer supplied, puffing thoughtfully on her pipe. "It's not right, by any means. But it's... What has to be done. I know I took care of the man-shaped monsters on the way here, Rose, but sooner or later you'll have to do it."

"Looks like you had fun! Needed to vent some steam, too?" Reaver grinned triumphantly as he appeared behind Sparrow's chair. A mug of straight liquor in one hand, he pointed with the other at her face. "You've got some... Well, I don't know who it was, but what's left of him is caught in your hair. Here –" He reached to pull an unidentifiable fleshy mass from her hair, then proceeded to flick it carelessly away. "Much better."

Rose paled as the pirate laughed. Would she have to become callous and jaded to the ending of life? She didn't want to think of it just yet; Sparrow seemed so calm, composed, and a little... More relaxed than she had been earlier in the day. Did her kid sister take pleasure in killing? The dark-haired sister threw back the rest of her wine, slamming her goblet on the table. She didn't anticipate the action making her the focus of the group, as three sets of eyes fixed on her.

"Rosey dear, I would be more than happy to recommend a drink if the wine was sub-par." Reaver drawled, stalking slowly around the table to offer her his mug. He smirked, eyes twinkling mischievously. Rose swallowed hard, bracing herself in her chair while plastering a pleasant smile across her face.

"It was fine." She said evenly, arching a brow at the offered mug. "What are you drinking, though?"

"Only the finest." He sat on the edge of the table, placed his mug in front of her, then crossed his arms. "Have a taste."

Rose eyed him cautiously, then plucked the drink off the table and took a hesitant sip. Almost immediately after swallowing the burning liquid, she began to cough. The dark haired sister frowned as she set the mug back on the table and shot a glare at the smug-looking pirate.

"That was disgusting, Reaver." She frowned, wiping her mouth. He chuckled and retrieved his drink.

"Your inexperience shows, lovely blossom. It's quite high quality, and meant to be sipped like this." Reaver winked at her, smirking. "I could, ah... Help with your issue of experience, you know."

"I do believe I'll pass," Rose ground out from between clenched teeth, anger slowly coloring her neck and face in pink patches. She stood hastily, eyes fixed on the Hero of Strength. "Hammer, would you like to accompany me to the bar? I think I want some more wine."

Sparrow exchanged a quick look with her old friend, catching herself before she began to pinch the bridge of her nose in exasperation. Instead, she chewed on the inside of her lip. Hammer rose more slowly, and nodded to the young woman with a smile, making a note of explaining to her that her excuse and exit strategy needed work.

"Of course, Rose. Lead the way," The warrior-monk said, gesturing with her mug of ale.

"Thank you," She replied genuinely before walking toward the bar without offering the pirate a second glance. He couldn't help but laugh at the transparency of her words as she retreated. He had offended her, and rather than provoke an argument, she'd left! When he turned to comment to Sparrow, he nearly jumped as he found himself fixed by her fire and ice stare, her expression blank.

"What? Did I say something to offend?" Reaver threw the situation right back at her, eyebrows shooting upwards in mock-affront.

Sparrow offered no explanation, and simply punched him on his upper arm.

"Ouch! What was that for?" He exclaimed, laughing and dropping into Rose's now vacant seat next to the Heroine.

"For being a tosser to my sister. Say something else about it, and I'll hit you again for acting like a fool." She shook her head, a smirk playing at the edges of her lips. "You know what you did. Don't try to deny it."

"Well... It's not my fault that she can't handle a little good-natured teasing." He shrugged, then plucked his drink from the table.

"It would be a pity if you were unable to handle some similarly good-natured teasing, Reaver. Say, involving being soaked by your own drink, hm?" She cocked a brow, her smirk growing.

"That's not what I'd call teasing, dear heart," The thief's expression of amusement faltered, and he looked much more serious. "That's a criminal offense, ruining good clothing with good liquor. I do believe we'd be in a fight."

"So you can tease, but not be teased back?" Sparrow was grinning now.

"I'd hardly call that sort of thing teasing, really... Where's your class?" He huffed, taking a long drought from his mug. She laughed, albeit quietly, and he counted that as one small victory.

* * *

**AN:** Well, hello. It's been a while. I don't even know if there's anyone still out there! If there is, thanks for coming back. Thank you all for your kind reviews, as well.

I would like to apologize for this short, sorry excuse for a chapter taking so long. It's the first part of a 21+ page document that has been sitting incomplete on my hard drive, collecting figurative digital dust, for the past two years. Not to make excuses, but I was shocked into a bit of a writer's fugue after literally watching a close family member die. I'm not really going to go into that here, buuuut it left me a bit shaken, and then some other things happened and life goes on and I started re-playing Fable 2 and 3 because of some save file corruption recently and here I am and here's a part of a chapter that I'm cutting into pieces and editing into three or four bits and putting them up here over the course of July I hope and andANDAND.

... That's some redirection. You'll probably notice that I'm changing some things up in terms of style starting here. So, if anyone is still there: thank you, sincerely, for sticking around. Much love ~3!

And Emma, I know it's been a while, but thanks for the beta read. You kept my American English from overrunning this chapter/story in general. I hope life is treating you well, if you see this!


End file.
